


i'm not home... because i'm dead

by westcoasting



Category: Mötley Crüe, The Dirt (2019)
Genre: (finally lmao), Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Smut, drug overdose, i guess, i'll add more later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-01-24 05:45:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 34,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18565138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westcoasting/pseuds/westcoasting
Summary: tommy visits nikki after he overdoses.





	1. i love you

**Author's Note:**

> i'm scared to post this because i always think my writing is awful but here we go hahahahah. im sorry don't hate me. i love u. enjoy?? 
> 
> (based on the movie by the way<3)

Nikki’s entire body hurt. His arms, his hands, his head. Hell, his fucking  _hair_ hurt. He felt like he’d been hit by a fucking truck, and even that was an understatement. 

He stared at himself in the mirror, lightly running his fingers over the swollen, red welts on his chest. Two shots of adrenaline, right to the heart, and... this was rock bottom. He’d finally hit it. 

He didn't need the drugs. _Fuck_ the drugs. He was tired of letting people down, tired of constantly disappointing the few people in his life that still put up with his shit, tired of always being unhappy. He didn't wanna be just another rockstar who let his addiction get the best of him. He was done. 

Until that fucking syringe, still full of Persian from earlier and just _barely_ peeking out from underneath a pile of dirty clothes, caught his eye. Without even pausing to think, Nikki reached for it. His fingers curled around the small tube as he outstretched his bruised arm. 

The bassist needed one last hit. Just one more, then he’d stop for real. And so he angled the syringe downwards, placing it right up against a vein in his inner elbow, and winced as he felt the tip of the needle pierce through the top layer of his skin. He didn't even have time to pull the needle from his arm before he felt himself nodding off.

/ / / 

Nikki woke up to someone shaking his shoulders. He tried to open his eyes but decided it hurt too fucking bad and took too much energy, so he quickly gave in and let them close. Whatever, they’d leave, whoever it was. 

“--God damn it, Nikki, please wake up. Fuck,” they pleaded. 

And, okay, they probably weren’t leaving anytime soon and his curiosity got the best of him, so Nikki forced himself to keep his eyes open regardless of how much it burned. His blurry vision slowly faded and he could just _barely_ make out Tommy’s figure; the drummer was sitting on the floor in front of him, nervously biting down on his nails. 

“What the _fuck_ were you thinking?” Tommy growled, once Nikki was sure he could keep his eyes open. 

“What?” Nikki questioned, defensive. He ignored how much it hurt to talk as he shrugged, “I'm _good_ , T-Bone. It’s all--”

The frown on Tommy’s face turned into something more like a scowl as his eyes flickered to Nikki’s bloody elbow. “Don’t you fucking dare tell me that everything’s ‘all good,’ Nikki. I thought you were dead, asshole! You scared the shit out of me.” 

Nikki paused to suck in a deep breath, then immediately cursed at the sharp pain in his ribs. He could feel his eyelids getting heavier and heavier by the second. “Can you stop yelling at me, I have a headache.”

“Can you fucking look at me, Sixx?” Tommy shot back. “Or are you still too fucked up to do that?”

Now it was Nikki’s turn to frown. He met his green eyes with Tommy’s blue ones and immediately noticed just how puffy and red they were. 

“Jesus _Christ,_ Nikki,” the drummer sighed. “You were fucking  _dead_  and the first thing you do when you get home is shoot up again? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Tommy reached over and pulled the syringe from Nikki’s arm. 

“Ow, Tommy, fuckin’ be careful with that,” Nikki groaned, rubbing his sore arm. “And just for the record, you’re acting like an asshole right now. I don’t need a fucking lecture, okay?” 

The bassist tore his gaze from Tommy’s, kept his eyes fixed on the floor because god _damn_ it he didn't want Tommy to see the tears that threatened to fall, so fucking heavy behind Nikki’s tired eyes. _No_. He wasn’t about to cry in front of Tommy, that was for damn sure.

 _What the fuck is wrong with you?_  

Yeah, that felt like a slap in the face. Hurt like one, too.

If Tommy only came here to yell at him and say shit like _that_ then he could get the fuck out for all Nikki cared. 

It was silent for far too long before Tommy spoke up, his voice quieter than Nikki had ever heard it before. “I didn't mean that, Nikki. What I just said. I... _Fuck_. I’m sorry, I'm an idiot. That came out wrong. I care about you a lot, okay? I--” 

Tommy paused. 

“Are you done, Tommy?” Nikki snapped. His headache had gotten to the point where it was almost unbearable and all the raven-haired bassist wanted to do was sleep for, like, twenty-four hours straight. 

“You don't wanna know what I was gonna say?” Tommy asked, hurt. That same frown from earlier was on his lips, and Nikki would be lying if he said it didn’t get to him. He’d always had a soft spot for the drummer ever since they met at that diner--Tommy a kid with way too much energy who carried his drumsticks in his back pockets everywhere he went and Nikki a pissed off ex-London member with a nose bleed and a dream of creating something no one’s ever fuckin’ seen before.    

“No, no, I do,” Nikki said. “I'm sorry. Go ahead. I'm listening, I promise, I just need to shut my eyes for a minute.”

The bassist rested his head in his arms and tried to ignore the dull pain building behind his eyebrow or the pressure behind his eyes, or... 

After a few more minutes of silence, Nikki looked up. “Tommy?” 

“I don't...fuck, I don’t know how to say this,” Tommy mumbled to himself, so quiet that Nikki just barely caught it, “Okay, whatever, fuck it--I love you, Nikki.”

Nikki smiled. “Love you too, T-Bone, now what is it?”

“No, Nikki, I--” 

Maybe it was the crimson flush on Tommy’s cheeks, or the fact that he hadn’t even so much as glanced over at Nikki, or the way his voice quivered slightly that clued Nikki in to what Tommy had _really_ meant. And Nikki sat there like an idiot, with his mind going a million miles per hour as he tried to think of something--anything--to say. He finally settled on, “Shit.” 

Which probably wasn't a wise choice judging from the way Tommy’s face _crumbled_. “I should go.”

Nikki wanted to argue with that, to tell Tommy no, he should stay and that Nikki would actually like it a lot if he did, but he couldn’t get the fucking words out. So he sat there, frozen in place as he watched Tommy pull himself up and then walk out the door without even telling Nikki goodbye, and realized just how badly he’d fucked up. 

Once he was alone again, he finally let himself cry. 


	2. just (try to) forget about it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the next day...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this instead of writing my essay for school. lmaoooo. please enjoy the work of my last two braincells <3 also. i never outline/plan anything out ever, can u tell? hahaha

Nikki was running late for rehearsal again. He _knew_  that everyone was gonna be pissed once he finally showed up close to an hour late, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care about that. Especially not when he had a spoonful of smack he was about to shoot up--well, if he could just find a fucking vein, that is. He couldn’t show up sober today, not after yesterday. Tommy was gonna be there and... Nikki really didn’t wanna see him because everything the drummer said to him last night was running through his mind on a loop. Over and over and over. _I love you, Nikki._

_I love you._

And so was Nikki’s fucking awful, thoughtless response-- _Shit._

Why the fuck did he say that? Why not  _I love you too, Tommy_? That’s what he’d wanted to say. He just couldn’t get the words out like always, couldn’t accept that for once in his life, someone actually fucking cared for him. Because why would anyone care about-- _love_ \--Nikki? Nikki, the junkie who was so in over his head that even _dying_ couldn’t make him wake the fuck up and stop. Nikki, his own mother’s second choice-- _if that_. Nikki, the kid his father didn’t want. For fuck’s sake, loving Nikki was a chore. Tommy didn't deserve that, no one did. He deserved someone better. Nikki didn’t want him to have to deal with all his fucked up baggage. 

And the look on Tommy’s face after was...fucking heartbreaking, to say the least. 

He couldn’t handle seeing Tommy after that. He wouldn’t even know what to say. But he _did_ know that being sober definitely wouldn’t do anything to help. And so he stood there, in his dimly lit closet, desperately trying to find a vein until his arm was bruised up and bloody and he was nice and high like he should be, because high was comfortable for him. High let him forget about all the shit he’d done and said that wished he hadn’t right after he said it.  

He grabbed his bass and a few lyric sheets on his way out the door, quickly threw on a jacket so no one would ask about his arms--he didn’t wanna deal with that shit right now--then dragged himself over to the studio where, _yeah_ , everyone was waiting for him, pissed. 

“Look who decided to fucking show up, _finally_ ,” Vince shot a glare Nikki’s way. If looks could kill, Nikki would definitely be six feet under...

But Nikki ignored him, as hard as that was, and made his way over to the couch where Mick sat, sipping a bottle of Jack Daniels. 

“I brought you, uh, some lyrics. Hope ya like them,” Nikki handed the crumpled sheets of paper to Vince. He turned to Mick. “And, um. I was thinking that for the guitar riff, we could do something like--”

“Nikki. Dude. You already showed us these songs a few days ago, man,” Vince interrupted, eyes scanning over the lyrics. “You don’t remember?”

_Shit_. He did? Fuck, that’s right, he _did_. Now Nikki just felt stupid because... What the fuck could he possibly say? 

The studio was dead silent until Tommy dropped one of his drumsticks. Nikki could hear him swear under his breath as he reached for it. 

“This is fucking pointless,” Tommy said, after a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, “Maybe we should just call it a day. Nikki’s too high to play, we don’t have any fucking lyrics, let’s all just... go home.” 

Nikki could feel everyone’s eyes on him and he hated it. He should’ve never even bothered coming in. Leaving sounded so nice to the bassist; there was another syringe with his name on it back home. “Whatever, that’s fine with me.” 

Vince sighed angrily, tossing the lyric sheets on the floor with an eye roll. “Fuck you, Nikki. I actually wanted to practice today.”

“Would you stop being such a fuckin’ drama queen, Neil?” Nikki snapped at the blonde. God _damn._  Sometimes he really couldn’t stand Vince, and right now was one of those times.

“I’ll stop whenever you pull your head out of your ass and quit fucking up the band,” Vince scowled.

_Ouch_. He wasn’t fucking up the band, was he? _No_...so why would Vince say that?

And that’s when Nikki lost it. “Who the _fuck_ do you think you are? You wouldn’t even fucking _be here_ if it wasn't for me. You should be fucking thanking me for letting you join my fucking band! _I_ made you, asshole. I fuckin’ made _all_ of this!” 

Vince snickered. “Get over yourself, Nikki.” 

Nikki felt like crying. He needed _more fucking_ _dope_ so he wouldn’t. “If I’m fucking things up so much, how about _you_ try writing some fucking lyrics, Vince? I’d  _love_ to hear those.”

And then Nikki threw his bass down as hard as he fucking could, storming out of the room before Vince had a chance to say anything else. He slammed the door behind him. Vince could go fuck himself.

From inside, Nikki could hear Mick sigh and then groan, “Go check on him, drummer.”

“Why do I always have to fuckin’ deal with him?” Tommy argued. 

Nikki could only imagine the glare that Mick was sending Tommy's way right about now, so he wasn’t surprised when the door opened and Tommy called out, “Nikki, wait.”

The bassist ignored him and kept walking, brushing away a tear or two from his eyes. Nikki wasn’t in the mood to talk. He wasn’t in the mood for anything, really--except for another shot of heroin. 

“I know you can fucking hear me, Sixx,” Tommy continued. “Wait up.”

“Look, I’m not in the mood. I just wanna go home, Tommy,” Nikki stopped, leaning against the wall. “Leave me alone.”

“So you can shoot up?” 

“That’s none of your fuckin’--”

_Business_ , Nikki was going to say, right before Tommy interrupted him. Because... it wasn't, really. 

“How about you shoot me up too, then?” he asked.

_That_ caught the bassist off guard, made him pause for a second. He shook his head. “I’m not doing that, T-Bone. I can’t, I--” 

_Love you too much to do that._

“Then why the fuck do _you_ do it?” Tommy’s voice dropped to a whisper. "Why do you keep doing it?" 

Great fucking question, T-Bone. Nikki didn’t know how to even _begin_ to answer that one. They’d be here all night if he did. 

_Goddamnit_. Nikki was trying so fucking hard not to cry but fuck that. He couldn’t do it anymore. He wiped his damp eyes, staring down at the black smudges left behind on his fingers. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“ _Shit_ , Nikki,” Tommy muttered before quickly pushing the bassist into the nearest bathroom they could find. 

Nikki was hunched over the toilet, eyes burning as he puked up almost nothing, and Tommy’s arm rested on his back.

“You’re a mess.”

Nikki rolled his eyes. “Thanks.”

He coughed, hard. More nothing, then he shut his eyes and leaned his head against the stall door. “I think...” Nikki’s words were slow. “That we should talk.”

“About?” 

“About yesterday,” Nikki hesitated. 

Tommy shook his head ever so slightly, lips parted. He stood up, leaving Nikki on the bathroom floor. “I--just forget about it, okay, Nikki? Forget I said anything.”

_Well, now._ The only way he could do _that_ was heroin. So after Tommy left, and after Nikki miraculously made his way home despite feeling dope sick as hell, he did just that. It was pretty ironic that the only thing on his mind after injecting, though, were Tommy’s words. _Just forget about it._


	3. a 10cc love affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> because nothing good ever happens when you're strung out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok! a few things before we get started:  
> 1\. the title of this is from the heroin diaries, i borrowed it bc i liked it (don't sue me nikki i love u)  
> 2\. the scene in the middle of this chapter is ALSO from the heroin diaries bc i read it and i was like "ok yeah i wanna write about that" but i changed it a bit & added more details. i know it doesn't fit in w/ the timeline but....just like, pretend, okay?? this is fiction, we can do that here right??
> 
> now on with the goddamn show <3

“Another one,” Nikki motioned to the now empty glass sitting in front of him, then cleared his scratchy throat. “Please.”

Look, he wasn’t usually the type to sit around at a bar by himself, much less during the middle of the day (that was more of Vince’s thing), but he hadn’t had a fix since yesterday and he didn’t know what the fuck else to do for the hour and some odd minutes it was gonna take his dealer to get here. 

His hands shook as he downed his Jack and Coke in just one sip. Jesus _Christ_ , he was out of it and even the bartender noticed. Fuck dealers, they were so fucking unreliable. He set his glass down a little too hard, threw a $20 on the table and gave the bartender a nod, and then got the hell out as quick as he possibly could. There were too many damn people in there and they were all staring at him—or... he felt like they were, at least.

It was too bright outside, but thank god there wasn’t as many people out here. Nikki leaned against the wall of the building, drinking in the beauty of the always-busy Sunset Strip that stretched out for miles in front of him. 

Fuck. If only his dealer could get here soon, because a shot of heroin running through his veins would make everything _that_ much more beautiful.

/ / /

“Yo, Sixx.” 

The bassist, who was now sitting down on the dirty sidewalk, his hand resting against his cheekbone as he fought to stay conscious, glanced up at the figure in front of him.

“Took you long enough, asshole,” Nikki growled. 

He felt sick. Like he was going to throw up or pass out or both at any given moment now. He was definitely sweating, even though the sun had moved behind a wall of clouds, and his mouth was so dry it hurt to swallow.

His dealer, Jason, only chuckled. “For you.”

He held a clean rig, a baggie of cocaine, and a balloon of china white in the palm of his outstretched hand, and Nikki’s lips curled into a smile.

“Can you... um, do it for me?” he pushed up his sleeve.

“ _Here_? Nikki, no, do you wanna fucking get arrested?” Jason whispered and shook his head, glancing around at the many people walking up and down the Strip.

Nikki groaned, frowning. “I don’t fucking _care_ , I need it.” 

“Okay, look. I don’t wanna risk anything, not with all these people around, man. There’s a Denny’s right across the street, let’s just... go in there, we can use their bathroom, and then I’ll—”

“Yeah,” Nikki interrupted. He couldn’t take one more fucking _second_ of this. “Help me up?”

“Jesus, man,” Jason mumbled, quietly but not enough so that Nikki couldn’t hear him, then grabbed Nikki’s hand and jerked him up from where he was sitting. “You’re really out of it, aren’t you?” 

Nikki shot him a glare. “If you got here sooner I wouldn’t be. Jesus Christ, I’m gonna be late for fuckin’ rehearsal again.”

“C’mon, dude, you know I’ve got other people to take care of, too,” Jason argued as the two of them crossed the street. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Whatever,” Nikki said, pulling the heavy double doors open as he pushed his sleeve back down. It was crowded inside Denny’s, way too crowded, and he didn’t want any dirty looks. 

“Shit, man, I don’t have a spoon,” Jason realized, pulling Nikki aside. 

Nikki could feel his eyelid twitch as he exhaled. He felt like throwing a temper tantrum and breaking a bunch of shit like a fuckin’ angry little kid would do, that’s how frustrated he was. 

“We could order something, like, I dunno, soup, then just use that—?” 

“That’s gonna take too fucking long,” Nikki snapped. 

Then his eyes landed on the soda machine that was crammed in the back corner of the restaurant.

“I have an idea. Go get everything ready,” the bassist demanded. “I’ll be there in a second.”

He dug around in his pocket and was lucky enough to find a few quarters, which he then used to buy a bottle of Coca-Cola. 

And so… this is what it’s come to, now: Nikki, too strung out to even think straight, locked in a filthy Denny’s bathroom somewhere on the Sunset Strip, with a Coca-Cola cap full of china white mixed with cocaine that he was about to shoot up.

His breathing was shaky as he glanced over to the rig that Jason was in the middle of fixing. _Slowly_ , Nikki might add. Very fucking slowly.

“Can you… please,” Nikki whined, staring down at his bruised up elbow.

Jason looked over at him. “Nik. I know you’re in hell right now, trust me, but in about eight seconds you’re going to be in heaven.”

Nikki didn’t think he could last eight more seconds.

“Gimme your arm.”

He did. There was a two-second pinch as the needle broke through his skin, then what felt like _forever_ , and then, finally, that little rush as the high began to hit.

Nikki felt himself beginning to zone out, until Jason said, “Hey, man. Nikki, hey. Didn’t you mention something about rehearsal?”

“Shit.”

/ / /

Nikki walked into the studio feeling like he was dead. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in one of the windows, and decided that he _looked_ just as bad as he felt.

He had a little baggie of china white tucked away in his pocket for later and was holding the still-full bottle of Coca-Cola in his hands. His hair was a rat’s nest, and the black eyeliner underneath his eyes was smudged, blending into his dark circles.  

Tommy took one look at him and his face fell. Nikki was used to getting those kind of looks from Vince and Mick, mainly, but for some reason it just _hurt more_ when it was coming from Tommy. “Are you fucking kidding me, Nikki?”

“Where’s your bass?” Vince asked, looking Nikki up and down.

“Mother _fucker_.” How did he manage to leave his bass at home and not notice? Between this and yesterday’s incident with the lyrics, Nikki started to think that maybe it’d be better if he skipped rehearsals altogether. Maybe Vince was right (but he’d never let Vince know that). Maybe he _was_ fucking up the band.

“I’m sorry?” Nikki shrugged, his voice small.

"Dude,” Vince turned to Tommy, a grin on his face. “Did Nikki fuckin’ Sixx just apologize?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Nikki rolled his eyes. Mick stopped drinking long enough to let out a slight chuckle.

“Aw, c’mon, Nikki, let me have this moment!” Vince protested.

“So I guess we’re done here. Again,” Tommy set his drumsticks down.

He was the first one to leave the studio, followed by Mick, who told Nikki to ‘ _take care_ ,’ and then Vince. Nikki chose to stay behind, though. He stared at the empty bottles of alcohol sitting on the table, then at the unplugged amps in the corner, then at Tommy’s drums. Yeah, Vince was definitely right—Nikki was the weak link in the studio. It fucking sucked. It felt shitty. But, at the same time, Nikki didn’t _care_. He’d always been the one working his ass off for the sake of Mötley Crüe. He was _always_ in the studio, every second of every hour that they were there, never missed a practice. He spent hours sitting on his couch, alone, with his bass and his worn-out notebook writing lyrics until his hands cramped. He deserved a break, right?

_Right_. And what better way to do that then with a line of coke?

Usually, Nikki couldn’t help but think, as he sat alone in the studio, Tommy would be more than happy to join in on his activities. He frowned to himself. He should really call Tommy. After finishing his line, he promised himself that he’d call tomorrow.

 


	4. just go away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nikki tries to talk to tommy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> issa ~LaTe NiGhT uPlOaD~ how are we feeling?? i lowkey didn't think i would finish this today but i DID so here we are. also. this was supposed to be a one shot and now i have four chapters, i didn't think that would happen either hahaha.
> 
> i wonder whats gonna happen in THIS chapter???

 

_"What’s up, dude?! I’m not here right now, leave a message! Okay, bye.”_

“ _Fuck_ ,” Nikki hissed. He stopped himself from throwing the phone at the wall, and, instead, slammed it back into the receiver, letting out a long sigh as he did. The empty ashtray he kept on his nightstand threatened to topple over the edge from the force, while a few used needles fell to the floor. Nikki only shoved them under his bed.

Tommy _never_ ignored his calls. He always picked up once he saw it was Nikki calling, and if on the rare occasion he didn’t, the drummer _always_ made sure to call Nikki back, at least. But now, finally, after five different attempts—each one ending with him having to listen to Tommy’s answering machine message yet _again_ —Nikki realized that probably wasn’t gonna happen.

Which only meant he was gonna have to take matters into his own hands and drive down to Tommy’s house if he wanted to talk, because Tommy sure as hell was doing a fucking fantastic job at avoiding Nikki ever since…yeah.

The bassist slowly crawled out of bed, grabbing whichever shirt of his that was within arm’s reach and pulling it over his head, and then used his hand to steady himself against the wall. He stood there for a few seconds, dizzy and seeing tiny silver stars, then decided that it’d probably be better if he wasn’t completely sober for this. Hell, he could even bring Tommy some blow as, like, an apology… or whatever.

(Nikki had never been the best at those.)

Leaning over his cluttered nightstand, he carefully cut himself a line of coke, snorted it, then tucked what was left of the ivory powder in his pocket for later.

He hoped this worked. He really did.

/ / /

Nikki was nervous. He stood there, on Tommy’s front porch, wiping his sweaty hands along his torn jeans, as he talked himself up. Because this was stupid. It’s _just_ _Tommy_ , he could fuckin’ do this. And so he forced himself to knock on Tommy’s door, took a half-step back, then waited.

A minute or two passed, though it felt like an hour to Nikki. The bassist contemplated just going home and forgetting this ever happened, but just as he was about to turn around and walk away, the door swung open. Tommy stood almost all the way behind it, just peeking his head out slightly as if he was trying to hide himself. Nikki would’ve laughed, but felt that wasn’t appropriate so he bit his lip.

“What is it, Nikki?” Tommy finally asked after too much heavy silence, his voice flat and tired. A small frown found its way onto his lips.

“I…” Nikki paused. He hadn’t even planned out what he was going to say. What the fuck did he even _want_ to say? Too many possibilities ran through his mind. None of them felt right.

Tommy only stared at him, not looking amused. He parted his lips, then immediately closed them.

Nikki shoved his hands in his pockets. Fuck, it was cold. He suddenly wished he’d brought a jacket—but that might’ve had something to do with the fact that Tommy wouldn’t stop fucking staring at his track-marked elbows.

“I’ve been calling, T-Bone,” his voice cracked as he dropped his eyes from Tommy’s, fixing them on the smooth concrete beneath his shoes instead. “I wanna talk.”

“I told you to just—”

“I don’t _want_ to forget about it, that’s the fuckin’ point,” Nikki interrupted. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Nikki, I… Look,” Tommy sighed, curling his fingers around the edge of the door. “I didn’t mean it, what I said. Okay? So just… go away, I don’t want to talk to you right now. Especially not when you’re high out of your mind.”

“Oh.” Nikki shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

The last thing Nikki saw before Tommy slammed the door shut were the tears gathering behind the drummer’s eyes, and Nikki would be a liar if he said he didn’t feel like crying, too. His footsteps were the loudest thing ever, it seemed like, as he began slowly walking down Tommy’s driveway to his Harley that was parked along the curb. He ran his fingers over the little baggie of cocaine in his pocket, playing with the seam. _It could wait._ He’d probably want it even more later tonight than he did right now, he figured. 

He swallowed, hard, letting out a breath he’d been holding in. Once he reached the end of the sloped driveway, he stopped. A few hot tears rolled down his cheeks, and Nikki frantically wiped them away just as fast as they’d come. It was windy and grey out, overcast, and he shivered in his short sleeves.

The bassist dumped the rest of the coke out on the seat of his Harley. _Fuck it_. He didn’t have a straw, so he settled for just plugging his nostril. And then after he was done, without even  _thinking_ , he turned around and ran back up Tommy’s driveway.

He knocked on the door once, then twice, a little bit louder the second time.

“T-Bone!” Another knock.

Nothing.

“Tommy, please, c’mon. Let’s talk,” Nikki begged, shaking the door handle over and over and _over_ as if that would do anything. He didn’t even bother wiping the tears from his eyes anymore.

“I’m sorry, T-Bone,” He tried next, eyes wandering to the open window. He could see Tommy’s empty living room and the staircase leading up to the second-story, and fuck. Tommy wasn’t gonna answer because Nikki fucking blew it, like always. “Did you really not mean it?”

_Nothing_. Again.

He felt like he’d been sucker-punched in the stomach, and it hurt like a bitch. His footsteps dragged as he slowly made his way down Tommy’s driveway yet again. What was left of the sun moved behind a grey cloud, casting a dark shadow over the valley, and the wind whistled violently. Nikki frowned.

_Now what?_ They had the day off from the studio (not like it mattered, Nikki probably would’ve skipped it anyways) and it wasn’t even noon yet. And—He could call Jason. Yeah, that’s what he’d do when he got home. At least Jason wouldn’t fucking ignore his calls. Nikki thought he’d kill himself if _that_ ever happened.

/ / /

The day had turned into nighttime before Nikki knew it. It had started raining a few hours ago and hadn’t stopped since. Nikki didn’t even know what _time_ it was; every hour seemed to bleed together and he lost track a while ago. He was used to it, though, it happened often. Especially when he was as high as he currently was.

He shut his eyes. They burned, but he was used to that too. Then he picked up the phone again.

_“What’s up, dude?! I’m not here right now, leave a message! Okay, bye.”_

Nikki smiled, let out a breathy laugh, then frowned. There was a long beep, and a tear rolled down Nikki’s cheek.

“Please tell me you were just saying that earlier,” Nikki choked out. “When you said that you didn’t mean it. Tommy, I l—”

He must’ve passed out, because he couldn’t remember ever finishing that sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i like to make my characters suffer. i am so sorry. (actually i'm not we dont do happy endings around here 😤) hope u enjoyed regardless
> 
> :-)


	5. give me a fucking break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ummm, idk. a lot of mood swings i guess? the usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have to keep thinking of chapter titles?? give me a fucking break. -- how i thought of this chapter title lmao  
> (also i fucking use a lot of fucking f-bombs in this chapter. like more than normal i think. whoops???)
> 
> ((ALSO. thank you to everyone who reads this/leaves comments/kudos. i'm gonna lose my shit hahaha like, i can't believe anyone actually reads the shit i write. that's fucking crazy.))
> 
> <3

 

For the first time in a long time, Nikki _wasn’t_ late for rehearsal. In fact, he’d managed to get to the studio early enough so that he was the first one in the room—which, yeah, fucking sucked because he was also coming down and a little strung out—and it was safe to say that Vince and Mick were definitely surprised when they walked in to see Nikki sitting on the couch with his bass in his lap.

Vince gave Nikki a nod. “Hey, man.”

“Hey. Where’s Tommy?” Nikki asked. He wanted to know if Tommy had at least _listened_ to his voicemail.

The blonde singer shrugged, looking confused. “No idea. Shouldn’t you know? I mean, you two are always off doing stupid shit together.”

Nikki didn’t know whether to smile or frown at that. He tapped his foot on the ground repeatedly, restlessly, eyes fixed on the door. _C’mon, T-Bone. Where the fuck are you?_

“Nikki, you got any lyrics for me?” Vince asked loudly, taking a seat next to Nikki and kicking his feet up on the table. He opened a bottle of beer, took a sip, then added, “ _New_ ones?”

“They’re, uh, yeah,” Nikki paused, grabbing his notebook and flipping to a page near the very end. “Here. Last three pages.”  

He studied Vince’s reactions as the singer’s eyes glossed over page after page of Nikki’s scribbled writing. He knew his lyrics were shit, he didn’t expect Vince to like them. Or want to sing them. Fuck, he should really be trying harder.

“These are…” Vince hesitated, flipping the page. Nikki looked over at him, arching an eyebrow. “Oh. Wow. Yeah, I like them, man. They’re good.”

He was just saying that to be nice, Nikki figured, and he laughed. Vince was such a shitty liar sometimes, though Nikki did appreciate the effort. If it was Nikki in Vince’s shoes, he couldn’t say that he’d be as nice.

“Thanks, man. I’m gonna, um,” Nikki mumbled. He didn’t bother finishing that sentence, he was sure Vince knew exactly where he was going and what he was gonna do. “I’ll be right back.”

And hopefully, when he did come back, Tommy would be here.

The bassist locked himself in one of the empty bathroom stalls. Before he pulled the drug he so desperately craved out from his pocket, he stopped and stared at his arms. They were fucked. _Absolutely_ fucked. Collapsed, swollen as shit, punctured, bruised to hell and back, and to top it off, there was still a big spot of dried blood from yesterday that he hadn’t bothered to scratch away. This wasn’t gonna fucking work. He exhaled, rolling his sleeves back down, and unlocked the door.

Nikki prayed that no one came in, because this would look really, really bad. The bassist stood in front of the scratched up mirror, underneath the harsh fluorescent lighting, and his hands shook as he hurried to heat his drug up. He felt like he was gonna have a fucking _breakdown_ any second now and his piece of shit lighter wasn’t fucking _working_ and—

_Fucking finally._ He dipped the syringe into the bottle cap, filling it with the caramel-colored liquid, then angled the needle so that it rested right against the prominent vein in his neck.

As he left the bathroom, he tossed the burnt cap and the now-empty syringe. He started slowly walking down the hallway back to the studio, and  _please fuckin’ be here, T-Bone. Please please please._ He pulled the door open, and… fuck. No Tommy, but Nikki kind of expected that.

His face fell; he couldn’t help it if he tried. He sat down next to Vince without saying a word, only staring at his boots, then at the ceiling, then right back at his shoes.

“Do you wanna, uh…” Nikki’s words were slow and spacey. He sounded high as a fucking kite, and he could barely keep his eyes open as he turned towards Vince. “Call Tommy? And see where he is? We kinda can’t…play without him here.”

“Already did, kid,” Mick chimed in from his spot in the corner, messing with a few pegs at the top of his guitar. “Said he’s on his way.”

Nikki nodded. He grabbed a bottle of beer from the table, then leaned into the couch cushions. His eyelids slowly began to droop again but he didn’t try to fight it this time; he just gave in and let them close. It was useless. And by the time Tommy finally made it to the studio, Nikki was too drowsy to move. Hell, even trying to fucking pick up his bass took too much effort.

“Nikki, you good?” Vince asked, annoyed. “Ready to play?”

“Yeah, yeah, m’good.” Except Nikki was starting to slur his words and he knew no one fucking believed he was  _good_. Whatever, at least they didn’t say anything about it. Nikki didn’t think he could handle that right now. He struggled to twist the cap off his beer and winced when the sharp metal grazed against his thumb. Then he took a long sip, ignoring how much it burned. “I’m fine—Fucking shit.”

Nikki sprang up from the couch and stumbled over to the trash can, knocking a few empty beer bottles off the table and almost tripping over Mick’s amp in the process. He had a hand clamped over his mouth, puke spraying from between his bony fingers. God, there’s nothing more depressing than puking your guts out, head buried in a trashcan, and having to smell fucking _garbage_ —that’s for sure. It only made Nikki gag even more.

“Are you kidding? I’m gonna fucking kill you, Sixx,” Vince yelled. “I’m so fuckin’ _tired_ of coming here every fucking day just for you to fuck things up like you always do! When was the last time we _actually_ got to practice?”

Nikki coughed, hands still gripping the edges of the trashcan so tight that his knuckles had started to turn a pale white color. He wiped his mouth, looking up. Everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to say something.

“You know what?” Nikki snapped. He couldn’t fucking take this. “Find a new bass player, then. If you fucking hate me so much. Fuck you guys too. I’m out, I quit.”

Vince’s eyes went wide, Mick almost dropped his drink, and Tommy’s eyebrows shot up.

“Nikki, no,” the drummer said. His pupils were totally blown; he must’ve been high on coke. “Let’s talk about this...”

“So _now_ you wanna fucking talk?! Fuck you, Tommy,” Nikki screamed back. He leaned over and puked again, and he could feel his entire body shaking. His head was pounding, and—Jesus _Christ_ , it just got _really_ fuckin’ hot in here. The lights were too bright. The room started spinning, and it didn’t take long at all before Nikki blacked out.

/ / /

“Hey.”

“Hmm?” Nikki mumbled, trying to sit up. Whoever was with him pushed him right back down again.

“You need to rest, Nikki.”

“Fuck. My head hurts,” Nikki groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Where the fuck am I?”

“You’re at home, dude. Just… try to relax.”

“Tommy?”

“Yeah.” Nikki looked over at him. He was sitting on the edge of Nikki’s bed, hair in his face, staring at the floor.

“Why are you even here?”

“To make sure you’re okay,” he answered, eyes still on the floor. “You passed out earlier in the studio.”

“I’m fine,” Nikki lied. “You can fuckin’ leave now.”

“Nikki—”

“I  _said_ I’m fuckin’ fine,” the bassist growled. He sat up and reached for the baggie of cocaine on his nightstand, watching as Tommy frowned and shook his head. _Fucking hypocrite._

“I don’t think _that’s_ a good idea right now,” Tommy gestured to the line Nikki had just finished cutting. 

Nikki rolled his eyes, snorting the ivory powder through a cut-up straw. “Oh, give me a fucking break, T-Bone. _You_ , of all fuckin’ people, shouldn’t be saying that shit.”

“You just woke up from a fucking blackout,” Tommy argued. “At least drink some water. And when was the last time you had an actual _meal_? You look like—”

“Just go away, Tommy,” Nikki interrupted, angrily throwing the drummer’s words from yesterday back at him. “I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk to you right now. See—that shit hurts, doesn’t it? Now get the fuck out of my house.”

Of  _course_ Tommy didn’t listen. “Vince and Mick are worried about you.”  

“Vince doesn’t fucking care about me. I’d probably be doing him a fuckin’ favor if I OD’ed again,” Nikki snapped, glaring at him.

“Nikki, don’t fucking think like that,” Tommy immediately said, eyes flickering over to where Nikki was sitting. “Vince would miss you. We all would.”

“Doubt it. And is that what you guys fuckin’ do together, sit around and talk shit about me?”

The drummer sighed. “ _Fuck_ , you’re difficult, Sixx. You know that?”

“You’re one to fucking talk.”

It was silent after that. Nikki sniffed, rubbing the tip of his nose with his knuckle. Then Tommy said, “I got your message. What was that last part, though? I couldn’t really hear it.”

_Fucking say it, Sixx. Tell him._

“Get the fuck out of my house,” was what came out of Nikki’s mouth instead. Fucking Christ, that wasn’t what he wanted to say.

“I really don’t fuckin’ get you sometimes, Nikki,” Tommy said, a frown still on his lips. _Yeah, join the club._ “You’ve been wanting to talk all week. Here’s your fucking chance!”

Shit _. Shit shit shit_. He was right. Nikki sat there, running his thumb along a bruised vein in his hand, and let out a breath. Why the fuck did he always get so choked up when it came to this shit? It was like he couldn’t speak.

Tommy stood up suddenly. “Okay, whatever. I’ll leave. Get some rest, Nik.”

“No, wait,” Nikki pleaded, just as Tommy was about to step out of the room. “I’m sorry, I—I love you.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a happy ending????? kind of?? for once???? who the fuck am i right now??? hahah.  
> idk how i feel about this chapter tbh.


	6. everybody gets high, everybody gets low

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what goes down after nikki finally says "i love you"...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay y'all. here's chapter sixx (I'M SORRY. I HAD TO. now that i've made this joke i can die happy), hope u enjoy it. also, this bitch is LONG so grab a snack and a meal. i was gonna maybe rewrite this completely but it ended up being the longest chapter i've written so far?? so we're keeping it & that's that on that!   
> (honestly though... it really isn't long, it's just long in comparison to all my other fucking short ass chapters. also, side note - how tf do people write like, 7k+ word chapters? i don't get it)
> 
> ok i'm done now :-)

_“No, wait,” Nikki pleaded, just as Tommy was about to step out of the room. “I’m sorry, I—I love you.”_

/ / /

 _Shit. Fuck._ Did he really just fucking say that?  _Out loud? Holy shit._ He needed another line. Or a shot of Jack, or both.

Nikki was freaking out. Those three words scared the shit out of him. He’d never fuckin’ said them out loud before, only in his head. It felt… weird, to say the least, and Jesus, why did he feel like his throat was closing up.

Nikki took a breath; his hands were shaking and it wasn’t from all the coke. _No_ , fuck— _No no no no no._ He couldn’t fucking do this, he decided suddenly.

The drummer stopped completely, turning around. Nikki’s room was dark, but he could still see that _fucking smile_ on Tommy’s lips—the really big one, that Nikki adored—which only made him feel even shittier for what he _knew_ he had to say next.

“But I can’t be with you,” Nikki finished.

The room was completely quiet, and _fucking hell, Tommy. Say something._ Anything _. Please._

Nikki almost wished that Tommy would scream at him, would tell him he was an awful fucking person, because he _was_ an awful fucking person and he deserved to hear it. Anything would be better than the heavy silence that now hung in the air.

When Tommy finally did speak up, his voice was so low that Nikki just barely heard him. “Oh. Okay... I—I get it.”

He sounded as if Nikki had just punched him in the ribs.

Nikki ran his tongue across his dry lips. He didn’t know what to say. “Tommy, I—”

The drummer cut him off. “Don’t, Nikki. Just...”

He never finished that, let his sentence trail off. He pulled the door open, stepping into the equally dark hallway leading out of Nikki’s bedroom. Nikki could hear him sniffling.

Before he left, he looked back at Nikki one last time. His voice was still way too quiet as he said, “At least fucking tell me why, Nikki. So I know. What the fuck’s wrong with me?”

_Nothing. At all._

“Is it—”

“No, T-Bone,” Nikki cut in. He hated seeing Tommy like this, and he fucking hated _himself_ even more for causing it. “Nothing’s  _wrong_ with you.”

Would it be too cliché of Nikki to say _it’s not you, it’s me?_ Tommy might fucking kill him if he did.

“Then why—?”

"I love you,” the words tumbled from Nikki’s lips before he could stop them, and it felt even weirder the second time. His stomach turned.

“Fucking  _stop_ , Nikki,” the drummer choked out. “You’re making it worse. Don’t fucking say that if you don’t mean it.”

The raven-haired bassist picked up the bottle of Jack sitting on his floor. It was almost gone, only about a little less than a quarter of the amber-colored liquid was left. He finished it in one go, and it burned like a motherfucker.

“I do mean it,” Nikki said softly. “I just…I—I can’t, T-Bone. I’m sorry.”

Tommy didn’t say anything as he walked out.

 _It’s better this way anyways._ Or… that’s what Nikki told himself, at least _._

But… Nikki did love Tommy. He swore he did, and he had for a while now—he didn’t know exactly when it happened, but it _happened_. He wasn’t the hopeless romantic type like the drummer was, but damn if Tommy wasn’t fuckin’ easy to fall in love with. It was Nikki who was the problem, as always; he just didn’t think he could love Tommy _enough_. And hell, he didn’t even _deserve_ Tommy’s love. Why he thought this would be a good idea, he'd never know. You’ve gotta laugh when you’re the fucking joke, right? ****

Nikki felt awful. But, once again, it was probably for the best. He blinked away a few tears that were pricking at the inner corners of his eyes as he sloppily cut himself another line—maybe it’d help him forget the look on Tommy’s face as he walked away, although he doubted it.

God damn. He’d been wanting to tell Tommy he loved him for what felt like forever and once he finally _did_ , he freaked out and fucked himself over. What the fuck was wrong with him? ****

/ / /

Nikki woke up to the phone ringing. He must’ve passed out sometime last night, hazy and delirious from his high, because he never remembered actually falling asleep at his own will. Reaching for the phone, he rubbed his eyes. He felt as if someone was drilling a fucking hole into the back of his head.

“What?”

“Nikki, fucking get your ass down to the studio.” It was Vince, and he was yelling. Fucking hell, it was too early for this. What _time_ was it? “ _Now_.”

“Good morning to you too, Prince Vince,” Nikki quipped. He couldn’t hide the annoyance in his voice if he tried. “You can stop fucking _yelling_ at me, motherfucker. And try asking me a little nicer, maybe.”

“Fuck you,” Vince growled. “It’s about Tommy, so stop being a bitch and fucking get here.”

_Shit, Tommy._

“Fuck,” Nikki cursed, feeling his heartbeat begin to speed up as the whites around his eyes grew. “Please tell me he’s okay.”

…Nothing but silence on Vince’s end.

"Vince!” the bassist shouted. He wanted to throw up. “Fucking tell me if he’s okay!”

He could hear Vince sigh, loudly. It crackled through the phone, sending shivers down Nikki’s spine. “Just get here, Sixx. Please.”

Then he hung up, leaving Nikki on the verge of a fucking panic attack. Fuck, Vince _never_ said please—especially not when he was talking to _Nikki_. The bassist frantically grabbed a jacket off his cluttered floor and tossed it around his shoulders. It hung off his thin frame and he tried his best to ignore that as he tied the laces on his scuffed up pair of boots.

He looked a mess—jet black hair sticking up in every direction, leftover eyeliner hugging his lash line, purple bags underneath bloodshot, pale green eyes, wrinkled clothes—but he didn’t fucking care. On his way out, he made sure to grab his keys and a bottle of whiskey, just for good measure. He’d probably need it, after all.

/ / /

Nikki didn’t think he could get there fast enough. He’d ran a few red lights and just barely escaped what could’ve potentially been a bad collision. By the time he finally made it into the studio, he _definitely_ felt like he was gonna fucking puke. His hands shook uncontrollably as he opened the door, and he gripped the whiskey bottle a little tighter to try to steady them.

“ _Fuck_ , Nikki,” Vince jumped up from where he was sitting on the couch, practically running over to the bassist. “That was quick.”

Nikki swore his heart was gonna beat out of his fucking chest as he asked, “What the fuck’s going on?”

“Tommy, he…” Vince paused. Nikki could see the drummer passed out on the floor, propped up against one of Mick’s amps. His head rested on his shoulder, lips parted, and his chestnut-colored hair covered most of his face. “He came in high on fucking smack, man. Totally out of it. He was going on and fuckin’ _on_ about you but… I don’t know, he wasn’t really making any sense. And then he passed out.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Nikki whispered to himself. He was clutching the whiskey bottle so tight that his knuckles began to ache.

He set the bottle down on the table. If he didn’t, he knew he’d end up hurling it at the wall at some point and he didn’t feel like cleaning up the mess it would leave behind.

He took a few steps forward, nearly tripping over his feet as he did. Then he sat down on the floor next to the drummer and let out a shaky breath. Without thinking, he put an arm around Tommy’s shoulders, pulling his limp body close.

“Can you—” Nikki started, looking over at Mick, then Vince, then to the door. He could barely speak. Thank god Mick got what he was trying to say.

“Sure, kid,” Mick said softly, nodding. He stood up, nudging Vince, who immediately followed behind him. Their footsteps echoed as they both left the room.

Tommy’s head laid on Nikki’s chest, now, as the bassist brushed a section of his hair away from his eyes.

“God damn it, T-Bone,” Nikki whispered. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

Nikki wrapped his other arm around Tommy’s chest. He lightly traced the Mighty Mouse tattoo on the drummer’s bicep; it’d always been one of Nikki’s favorites. “Fucking dumbass.”

He shut his eyes, holding Tommy a little tighter.

/ / /                   

By the time Tommy finally woke up, Nikki’s legs had gone numb. His headache had only gotten worse, and he’d finished what was left of the whiskey a while ago.

“Nikk-iiii?” the drummer looked up, meeting his eyes with Nikki’s. He was still high, Nikki realized, his face pale and pupils pinned.

“Who fucking gave it to you, T-Bone?” Nikki asked, angry.

Tommy buried his head in Nikki’s chest, taking a few deep breaths. Nikki frowned, fighting the urge to pull his arms away. “Huh?”

“The fucking _heroin_ ,” he clarified, a sharp edge in his voice. “Who’d you get the fucking heroin from?”

“Jason…” Tommy mumbled into Nikki’s shoulder.

God, Nikki was gonna fucking kill him. ****

“Can you tell me _why_?” Nikki asked slowly, his jaw clenched tight.

“I wanted…” He paused. The bassist could feel Tommy’s body twitch as he shut his glazed eyes. “I wanted to forget… about—”

 _Right_. Last night, and what Nikki had said. God fucking _damn_ _it_. “You’re fucking stupid, Tommy.”

Shit, Nikki hadn’t meant to snap like that. He rubbed a few small circles on Tommy’s back with his thumb. “I’m sorry, I—that was mean of me.”

“I thought it would help. I don’t like it, Nikki,” he whined, a frown curving on his lips, shaking his head. “My stomach hurts. I’m… I promise I’m not gonna do it again.”

“You better not,” Nikki growled. “I’m fuckin’ serious.”

Nikki stood up, leaving Tommy laying on the floor. He stepped out into the hallway where Vince and Mick were waiting, shutting the door halfway.

“Take him home for me. Please,” Nikki said to the guitarist, nodding towards the studio. “I’ve got some shit to take care of.”

/ / /

Nikki had called Jason an hour ago, asking him to deliver a couple bindles of china white. He’d promised thirty minutes, but—of course, he was fucking late again. The sun had set way too fast and Nikki’s hands were starting to shake as he paced around his dimly-lit bedroom, anxiously waiting for the doorbell to ring.

The minutes felt like hours, and Nikki only got angrier and angrier as they slowly passed. By the time Jason finally arrived, he was fucking pissed—to say the least.

He opened the door, glaring at the dealer who was dressed in all black.

“What’s up, man?” Jason asked, casual and nonchalant as he gave Nikki a nod and a grin.

“You fucking dick,” Nikki spat, lunging towards him and greeting him with a right hook to the jaw.

Jason stumbled back a bit, his hand pressed against his face. “What the _fuck_ , Sixx?! Jesus, you should fuckin’ know by now that when I tell you thirty minutes I _really_ mean an hour—”

“Why the fuck did you give Tommy smack?” the bassist snarled, shoving Jason backwards.

“What’re you fucking talking about—Oh, shit.”

“ _Oh shit_ is right, asshole.”

Jason wiped his mouth. Nikki could see a trail of blood mixed with saliva left behind on the back of his hand. “Dude, he asked me. He wanted it, seemed pretty upset. What was I _supposed_ to do? I got bills to pay, too. What the fuck’s your _problem_ , Nikki? What’s the big deal?”

Nikki stood there, a lump in his throat. The sound of the wind whistling through the inky night sky was suddenly the loudest thing ever. “I fucked up. Again. It’s my fucking fault.”

Jason pulled his eyebrows together, confused. “What—?”

The bassist stared down at the concrete. “I… I’m sorry, man.”

At that, Jason’s face softened. “Here, Nikki. Sit.”

“Fucking shoot me up first,” Nikki whimpered.

“Sit down and I will,” Jason countered.

Nikki did. He held out his arm and Jason winced. “God  _damn_ , dude. Ouch. Hold on.”

Jason undid his belt, sliding it through the loops on his jeans so that he could wrap it around Nikki’s arm. Nikki shivered, his entire body shaking violently.

“Squeeze for me,” Jason mumbled, running a lighter underneath the plastic bottle cap full of china white. The bassist watched, wide-eyed, as he filled the syringe up with the clear liquid.

The needle hurt going in, and Nikki shut his eyes and squeezed his hand into a tight fist until it was over.

“Now what were you saying about Tommy?” Jason asked, unwrapping the belt from around Nikki’s bicep.

“I…Last night I told him that I love him,” Nikki sobbed, chewing on his lower lip. He put his head in his arms. “But I can’t be with him. And I lost probably the only fucking chance I had because I’m an idiot.”

“Aw, shit, Nikki.”

“I wanna be with him so fuckin’ bad,” Nikki continued. “But I can’t fucking give him what he deserves. And that’s not fair to him. He—he thinks I don’t love him.”

The tears running down Nikki’s cheeks felt like ice.

“Why don’t you just… fuckin’ tell him what you just told me?” Jason asked.

Nikki sniffed. “It's not that easy. He doesn’t wanna talk to me.”

“Listen, Nik,” Jason started. He had an arm around Nikki’s shoulders now. “I’m no therapist, or whatever, but… it sounds like you really fuckin’ love him. Fuck what you just said about not being able to give him what he deserves. Fucking give _yourself_ a chance. You’ll never know unless you try, dumbass. You know what I mean?”

The bassist shook his head. “I fucking panicked and I blew it. Again. I think I’m out of chances.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Sixx,”

 _Easier said than fucking done._ Nikki rolled his eyes.

“I gotta…” Nikki stood up, then lurched forward. He caught himself just in time so that he didn’t fall, leaning against the wall to steady himself. “I-I gotta go, um... Thanks, man.”

Jason nodded. He handed the remaining bindles over to Nikki, who happily took them. “Sure. Later, Nikki. Take care, alright? Try calling him.”

Nikki stepped inside his house, locking the door behind him. He stumbled through the dim halls, eventually making his way to the closet.

He wasn’t gonna call Tommy. All Nikki wanted to do was curl up in the quiet, dark closet and hopefully pass out. He hugged his knees to his chest, rubbing away the beads of blood that stained his inner elbow.

_What the fuck was wrong with him?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeahhhhhh so uh. poor nikki & tommy. they'll get their happy ending soon enough tho, don't worry.  
> ......or will they? stay tuned bitches ;-)))) 
> 
> (does this chapter make sense?? idk man. alright i'm gonna go i'm having a panic attack bc even after six fucking chapters, posting my shit on here still makes me nervous goodbye)


	7. paranoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> does this even need one? u can probably guess what's gonna happen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, here's the deal, banana peel: i'm not gonna be able to update this for a Bit™ so i wanted to at least get this chapter up tonight hahaha.  
> disclaimer tho: i don't know wtf it's like to be high on heroin so this chapter is just me WINGING IT. let's mf gooooo. hopefully it isn't too cringy to read lmao.  
> also, wanna know something funny? i actually tried to make an outline for this and i told myself i was gonna follow it and *john mulaney voice* Then I Didn't. seriously, y'all. the outline and what you're reading rn are SO fucking different. whoops?
> 
> ENJOY!

 

Nikki spent the rest of his night (or was it early morning, now? He didn’t know anymore) crying while leaning over the toilet, puking up next to nothing until his throat was raw—Typical, right? It happened so often that he should be used to it by now. He’d shot another bag an hour ago in an attempt to just pass the fuck out, but all it did was leave him even more paranoid.

He felt like he was going fucking _insane_. Maybe he was. Maybe the walls really _were_ closing in on him, maybe there really _was_ a bunch of people trying to break into his fucking house right now, maybe—God damn, where was the nearest fucking psych ward?

Fuck. He’d started to cough up blood now, his throat practically _screaming_ at him as he wiped his mouth. More smack would help. More more more _more, just fucking shoot up, Nikki, fucking do it, shoot up shoot up shoot up_.

He quickly gave into the voices (because… how could he not?) and grabbed a balloon full of china white and, shit, he was running out, guess he had to call Jason again tomorrow and— _don’t fucking think about Jason right now, that just led to Tommy and_ why  _did he even tell Jason all that shit anyways, god damn he felt like an idiot, he should’ve just kept his fucking mouth shut, Jason didn’t care and, fuck, he gave Tommy fucking smack and it was Nikki’s fault—_

Hands shaking and squinting to see what he was doing, he managed to heat up his drug despite the bathroom being almost pitch black. Finding a vein would be a whole different battle, though, one that he’d probably, most likely end up losing.

And—yeah, it was already proving to be way too difficult. Nikki felt like screaming. Or hitting something, so that’s exactly what he did until his knuckles were as bloody as his elbows were and _fuck it_ , he needed this fucking high so _bad_ , so bad that he didn’t care what the fuck he was doing anymore and resorted to just fucking  _stabbing_ his arm with the needle over and over again, shooting the drugs wherever the fuck they’d go.

Nikki could hear the loud _crack_ of the syringe as it broke, whatever was left of the liquid inside spilling out. He was able to feel the blood dripping down his arm, now, and he still wanted to scream—or maybe he wanted to cry?—because that did next to fucking _nothing_ for him except give him puncture marks that were guaranteed to turn into awful bruises over the next few days. _Fucking_ _shit_. Jesus. He grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling at it until his scalp was aching and a clump of his stringy, dyed-black locks was left behind in his shaky hands. It shouldn’t have been _that_ easy to pull his own hair out, _fuck fuck fuck why did he do that?_

He didn’t wanna be awake anymore. This was a nightmare. It was fucking _torture_ —Was this what hell was like? Sure fucking felt like it. God, he at least wished he wasn’t alone right now, wished that Tommy was here to help him fucking calm down because he’d always been the only one who could make Nikki forget about fucking Sikki, and— _fuck_ , he was trying so hard not to think about the drummer but… he couldn’t _not_ think about him, he fucking needed him. _Goddamnit_. Too bad Tommy hated him now; Nikki really fucked himself over.

Nikki took the time to wipe a tear from his cheek before deciding that slamming his head against the edge of his bathtub was the next best way to knock himself out. _Ha_ , not the kind of smack Nikki had in mind, but… it’ll have to do. This was gonna fucking hurt…

 

/ / /

 

The bassist woke up with what had to be the world’s worst headache. He said that a lot but _this one_ , along with his stomach, was just fucking killing him. He audibly groaned, rolling over. Something sharp pricked his side—it was probably a leftover needle from last night, he guessed.

He rubbed his eyes as he let out a breath. Even _that_ hurt to do, and… Wait, why the fuck was he on the bathroom floor, covered in blood? Jesus, he didn’t even wanna know the answer to that one.

His throat hurt as he swallowed. _Everything_ fucking hurt.

With yet another groan, Nikki pulled himself up from where he laid on the floor. He tightly clung onto the doorknob so he didn’t come tumbling back down and then made his way over to the closet, avoiding the mirror completely. If he looked as bad as he felt… Well, then. He didn’t wanna have to see that.

He could hear his stomach growling, and… hey, maybe cooking up a little smack would help fix that. _And_ it would get rid of his headache—killing two birds with one stone, _fuckin’ great, right?_

Thanks to some kind of fucking miracle, or maybe God himself—wait, no, if there even _was_ a God, he sure as hell didn’t give a shit about a fucking junkie like Nikki, obviously—he actually managed to find a vein in his arm to hit. Maybe today wasn’t gonna be as shitty as he thought it would be.

To stop himself from nodding off, he took a hit of freebase like his life depended on it, and it kinda did, in a way. Fucking freebase always made him so goddamn paranoid, though. Worse than just shooting dope did, and as the hours went by and day turned into nighttime, Nikki had done so much coke that he felt like he was gonna have a heart attack. He could barely move. He was hearing shit, seeing shit…

 _Ohgodohgodohgod_ he couldn’t take it anymore. He held onto his .357 a little too tight because the _fucking_ voices were driving him crazy. And the only way to make them stop was… well, to fucking do what they told him— _fucking shoot up_ , _just do it you fucking worthless junkie, you need it you need it you_ need  _it…_ except he was out because he was an idiot and didn’t save any and…Then he frantically reached for the phone and did what he should’ve done last night but couldn’t until now.

Nikki swore he wanted to cry when Tommy picked up. He almost did when he heard the drummer’s voice on the other end. “Nikki? It’s four a.m.”

Shit, so _that’s_ what time it was?

“I…can you...?” he couldn’t even get the fucking words out. _God_ , he was so—He punched the wall as hard as he could, wincing as a jolt of pain shot up and down his arm.

“You alright?” the drummer asked.

“No,” Nikki whimpered, clutching his hand and swearing under his breath. “I—I n-need you, can you—”

“Yeah. Of course. Gimme fifteen?” Tommy interrupted. The exhaustion in his voice was obvious; Nikki felt like shit for waking him up.

“I’m sorry.”

Tommy let out a lighthearted laugh; Nikki could practically _feel_ him smiling as he said, “Can you say that again?”

Nikki couldn’t help but smile, too. “Fuck off.”

“And… _there’s_ my Nikki.”

“My Nikki,” the bassist repeated softly. He said it almost like a question.

“I, uh, shit. It’s four in the morning, dude, I don’t know what I’m saying,” Tommy stammered. Then he mumbled something about needing to grab his shoes and his keys, and ended the call before Nikki had the chance to say anything else.

 

/ / /

           

Nikki answered the door with his .357 in his hands and tears down his cheeks. He’d just finished a line of coke and still felt like he was having a fucking heart attack.

“Nikki, whoa, put the gun down, dude,” Tommy said, his voice hushed and eyes wide. “Scared the shit outta me.”

“It’s not loaded, T-Bone. See?” Nikki shot a few blanks just to prove it; Tommy still jumped a little bit.

“Fuck, okay, I believe you! Now stop, c’mon.” He put an arm around Nikki’s shoulders, pushing him back inside.

They stumbled around through the dark hallways until they eventually made it to the living room. Tommy set the gun down on the table, then turned on a light.

“Holy shit, your fuckin’ arms,” Tommy gasped.

Goddamnit, Nikki forgot he was wearing only a t-shirt. _Shit!_

“And… _ouch_ , Jesus. What happened to your forehead?”

“Promise me you’ll never fuckin’ touch heroin again,” Nikki said. “Please fucking promise me, T-Bone.”

Nikki watched as Tommy looked down at his shoes, blinking away a few tears. And then he said, barely louder than a whisper, “Yeah, Nikki, I promise.”

“Because _this_ is what it does to you.” Nikki held out his arms, trying his best to bite back a sob. “I think I’m fuckin’ going insane.”

It was that kind of quiet where you could hear a fucking pin drop, and _fuck fuck fuck_ it was painful for Nikki to watch Tommy look at all the bruises and scabs and abscesses that littered his arms. He couldn’t believe he used to get told that he had nice veins; he almost wanted to laugh. Hell, you’ve gotta when you’re the joke.

The drummer let out a soft sigh, then a sniffle, then wiped his eyes before pulling Nikki into a tight hug. It caught Nikki off guard at first but he eventually relaxed into it, resting his head on Tommy’s shoulder.

“I’m really fuckin’ surprised you came,” Nikki mumbled.

Tommy’s lips were so close to Nikki’s ear as he asked, “Why?”

“Because—” the bassist had to stop himself before he started crying; he was so fucking tired of crying. Lately it felt like that was all he ever did.

They were both sitting on the couch, now, and Tommy’s arms were still around Nikki and Nikki didn’t think he could look at him so he settled for the ceiling, or the floor, or out the window even though it was dark out and he couldn’t see shit, or—

“Wanna tell me what you’re thinking about, Sixx?” Tommy asked softly.

Nikki shook his head.

“No?”

“Can you, um, what you said earlier—could you say it again?” the bassist asked, shutting his eyes. “It sounded nice.”

“What did I—? _Oh_ ,” Tommy mumbled. “My Nikki?”

“Yeah,” Nikki sniffled.

And all Nikki could think, as he laid there in Tommy’s arms and listened to him whisper those two words again, was maybe _that_ , maybe being his, wouldn’t be so bad after all…

Jesus _Christ_ , he needed to get his shit together.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> was that cringy? wait. don't answer that. i g2g- 
> 
> thx for reading. if anyone wants to help me come up with better chapter titles, hmu. i clearly need it.


	8. the same, but different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> new username who dis???? hELLO FRIENDS. its been a while huh. i missed u. thx for coming back, if u came back. 
> 
> i'm not gonna write summaries anymore bc i suck at them. i also HIGHKEY REGRET actually naming my chapters instead of just doing "1", "2", etc. u know?? but I'M IN TOO DEEP BABEY. THERES NO TURNING BACK NOW I'M COMMITTED TO THIS. this chapter was a fuuuuucking bitch to write and i don't even know why? but it's the longest one so far?? i also wrote part of this while i was stuck in traffic for almost 4 gd hours (i wasn't driving tho hehe don't worry) gotta love LA .......... :/ 
> 
> plz enjoy :-))

Nikki woke up in the same spot he fell asleep in—or passed out in, that would be a bit more accurate. It was quiet, _that_ kind of quiet where all he could concentrate on was the annoying ringing in his ears that never really seemed to go away. His head rested on Tommy’s chest, the drummer’s heartbeat helping to drown out the noise. Tommy was still sleeping (he’d always been such a late sleeper, unlike Nikki), his breathing slow and rhythmic; it helped Nikki calm down.

But _fuck_ , Nikki needed a hit—He briefly wondered if Tommy could feel just how badly he was shaking right now because he hadn’t had his morning fix yet. He swallowed, his throat still sore, then carefully untangled himself from Tommy’s arms, trying his best not to wake the drummer.

“Nikki? Where’re you going?” Tommy mumbled, warm brown eyes fluttering open for a split second before they closed just as fast. _Shit_. He pouted as he whined, “Stay here.”

“Bathroom,” Nikki lied. “I’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

The sleepy drummer gave him a nod, and then Nikki just about fucking sprinted to his closet. He picked up the phone, started punching in the first few digits of Jason’s number, and then froze.

 _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck_. No. He set the phone down, clenching his hand into a tight fist. His fingernails dug into his palm as he bit his lip a little too hard. _No_ , he wasn’t gonna call Jason. Not right now, at least, so he turned around before he could change his mind, unlocked the door, then walked back out to the couch where Tommy was laying, asleep again and softly snoring.

“T-Bone,” Nikki whispered, lightly shaking Tommy’s shoulder. “Hey.”

“Morning,” the drummer said, lips pulled into a lazy smile. He sat up with a yawn, stretching his arms above his head, then looked over at Nikki and arched an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“I’m really fucking hungry.”

Tommy laughed, quiet, as his eyes scanned over Nikki’s rail-thin body. “When’s the last time you had something to eat?”

The bassist shook his head as he shrugged. “I don’t—”

“Remember?” Tommy filled in. “Shit, Nikki, that’s _really_ not fucking good. You know what? C’mon, let’s get breakfast.”

He sprang up from where he was sitting on the couch, his eyes lit up. How the fuck he always had so much energy—while fuckin’ _sober_ , not to mention—was a mystery to the bassist, something Nikki didn’t think he’d ever understand.

“Sure,” Nikki agreed, nodding. He dropped his gaze to the floor as he added, “I’m not high right now. I wanted—I was gonna call Jason earlier.”

“But you didn’t call him?” the drummer asked.

“No,” Nikki said with a sigh. “I wanted to. I really fucking wanted to. But I… think I owe it to you to finally fuckin’ be sober for once.”

“How sweet of you, Sixx,” Tommy teased, an easy smile on his lips. “Does Denny’s sound good?”

The bassist laughed. “Good enough.”

/ / /

 

“Dude!” Tommy yelled as he slid into the booth across from Nikki, still buzzing with energy. Compared to Nikki, it was like day and night. “This fuckin’ brings back a lot of memories.”

“Tell me about it, T-Bone,” Nikki flipped through the menu with a half-smile, struggling to steady his shaky hands. Nothing sounded appetizing anymore, and Jesus, he’d really began to regret this whole _sober_ bullshit the second they’d left his house. He sighed, his smile slipping from his face as he looked around the crowded diner. “Where the fuck’s the waitress? God damn.”

He needed a Jack and Coke, _badly_.

“Right here, sweetheart.” Nikki’s eyes went wide as he looked over to the elderly woman. _Shit_ , she looked pissed… but Nikki couldn’t really blame her. She stood with one hand on her hip, a pen tucked behind her ear. Her lips were pressed into a tight, forced smile as she asked, “What can I get you?”

Nikki smiled apologetically. “Could I get a Jack and Coke?”

“And for you, hon?” She turned her attention to Tommy.

“Blueberry pancakes,” the drummer grinned with a slight nod, then paused for a moment. His eyes were glued to the menu as he added, “And… the French toast, too. Please.”

The waitress nodded, scribbling down their orders on her notepad before reassuring them that she’d be back in no time. Nikki bounced his leg up and down, restless, tugging a hand through his dark hair. He shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose; all the chatter, combined with the overly bright fluorescent lights and the thick smell of what-the-fuck-ever was currently cooking, was a bit too much—too overwhelming—for him.

“Pancakes  _and_ French toast, T-Bone?” Nikki finally asked, ending his sentence with a soft, breathy laugh.

“The French toast is all yours,” Tommy said. And before Nikki even had the chance to argue with that, he added, “You need more than just a Jack and Coke, Nikki.”

Nikki only stared down at the table, then picked at a scab on his arm until it was bleeding. Just the _thought_ of food made his stomach turn, and the bassist couldn’t help but pull a face as he mumbled, “I don’t know if I can eat all that, I might puke.”

“Nik…” Tommy frowned, disappointed. “I thought you said you were hungry.”

Biting his lip and looking up at the drummer, Nikki murmured, “I’ll try. No promises, though.”

Then he put his head down on the table; the dizziness had just hit him like a ton of bricks and the ringing in his ears had gotten even louder. It was way too hot in the diner—or was he cold? Either way, Nikki couldn’t stop himself from shaking. His fingers were now tangled in his hair and he tugged at a section of it, hard, still bouncing his leg up and down, up and down.

“Nikki, hey.” And even though Tommy was sitting only a few feet from Nikki, it sounded like he was a million miles away. “Are you okay?”

The bassist swallowed heavily, and all he could concentrate on at this point was taking deep breaths—in, out, repeat, in, out, don’t puke, in, out.

“Can you look at me?” Tommy asked next.

Nikki didn’t think he could, so he didn’t. He didn’t even try, only shook his head slightly and then stopped almost immediately because it hurt too much.

“C’mon, Sixx, I know you can,” Tommy said softly. Then, “Shit, food’s here, that was quick.”

The entire table shook as the waitress set down their plates. The smell alone made Nikki wanna puke; there was no way in hell he could get this French toast down. Tommy thanked her, and Nikki sat up with a groan. He tried not to focus on how much his head was spinning as he reached for the whiskey shooter in front of him, completely disregarding the fizzy Coca-Cola it came with. Then he unscrewed the lid, touching the bottle to his lips and downing the liquid inside in one long, smooth sip.

He placed the now empty bottle on the table, and—Tommy was staring at him.

“Cut it out, T-Bone,” Nikki sighed, a slight edge in his voice.

It was silent after that. Nikki forced himself to take a bite of the French toast; it was way too sweet, slathered in a ton of butter and syrup and… fuck fuck _fuck_. Ever since they’d sat down, Nikki had been trying so hard not to think about _all_ _this_ and how much it reminded him of the night he met Tommy, because Jesus Christ—Everything was the same down to a fucking T, even their _orders_ and yet… everything was so _different_. Nikki dropped his fork.

He stood up and walked out without another word, pushing his way through a crowd of people gathered near the front door and earning himself a few dirty looks in the process. He didn’t care.

“Nikki, wait up! Dude! Stop,” Tommy called.

The bassist fell to the curb, his hair in his eyes. The Sunset Strip was as crowded and busy as ever, cars whizzing by, and Nikki almost didn’t notice Tommy sitting down next to him. He immediately turned his head away, staring down at his boots, or at a spot of gum on the sidewalk, or a crumpled napkin tossed carelessly in the street because he was crying like an idiot again and he didn’t want Tommy to see.

Tommy moved a bit closer, or maybe Nikki just imagined it.

“Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, Sixx,” he said softly, nudging Nikki’s shoulder. 

Dark grey clouds hung low in the sky, obscuring the impossibly bright sun, and the fresh LA air suddenly felt thicker, heavier. Nikki sniffled, messing with his hair as he kicked a rock with the heel of his boot. “I...”

He paused for longer than he’d meant to, because… well, he had to. His voice sounded gross. 

“Nik?” 

The bassist exhaled, then wet his chapped lips with his tongue. “I—this,” he gestured to the diner behind them, doing a pretty shit job at hiding the shakiness in his voice, “I can’t do this.” 

Tommy’s eyebrows were pulled together in confusion as he looked at Nikki. “What do you—? Oh, shit. It’s not, like, a  _date_ or anything, Nikki, we’re just—I...”

For a split second, Nikki glanced over at the drummer, locking eyes with him. He shook his head, then tore his gaze from Tommy’s just as quick. He hesitated. “I, no, not that—I mean, _fuck me_ , this is... everything’s way too fucking similar to the night we met and I can’t do it. I can’t, T-Bone.” 

Tommy didn’t say anything, so Nikki only continued his rambling, “Everything was so fuckin’ great back then, we were so... and now—I fucked everything up. The band, us... our, uh...Goddamnit. I miss it so much.” 

He could barely string a sentence together, for fuck’s sake. He was too sober for this shit.

“Hey,” the drummer cut in, his voice just a little louder than a whisper, and thank god for that. He put an arm around Nikki’s shoulders and Nikki immediately tensed up; he couldn’t help it. “What the fuck do you _mean_ you fucked everything up? You’re crazy. C’mon, you’re Nikki fuckin’ Sixx, dude! You’re a legend, you fucking _created_ all this.”  

While Nikki _did_ appreciate it, deep down he knew Tommy was probably just saying that to make him feel better—And… add that onto the already too-long list of reasons why Nikki didn’t deserve Tommy at all. He sighed quietly, rolling his eyes as he said, “Yeah, whatever. Nikki fuckin’ Sixx is a  _legendary_ fuckup.” 

 _And_ a letdown, a sellout, an idiot, a fuckin’ junkie, a second choice...

Tommy interrupted him, his voice shutting up Nikki’s racing thoughts for a moment. “Stop thinking like that, Sixx.” 

Shit, Nikki was crying even harder now and Tommy definitely noticed; Nikki didn’t think he could hide it anymore. No, fuck that, he  _knew_ he couldn’t. It was  _that_ kind of crying, the kind that left you fighting to breathe with a sore throat and a runny nose. Everything was spinning now, and he was sweating in his heavy leather jacket. If he was being honest, he really wanted to go home and shoot up like the junkie fuckup he was.

“I fucking hate myself,” Nikki choked out.

His words hung in the air until Tommy finally said, “Well… you shouldn’t.”

The bassist frowned. “Yeah, that’s—”

 _Way easier said than fuckin’ done_ , Nikki wanted to say, but Tommy cut in before he had the chance.

“I love you, Nikki,” he said, pulling Nikki impossibly close to him, so close that Nikki could feel Tommy’s ribs underneath his thin t-shirt. He brushed a few wisps of Nikki’s dark hair from his eyes, and his breath tickled Nikki’s ear as he whispered, “My Nikki. I love you.”

And that’s when Nikki completely lost it, breaking down and burying his head in Tommy’s chest to hide his face. He was full-on sobbing now, his tears soaking through the drummer’s shirt. The bassist rested his arms around Tommy’s shoulders, and he could feel Tommy lightly trailing his fingers up and down his back.

“You’re okay, Nikki. You’re okay, I’m here,” he whispered, playing with Nikki’s hair until the bassist finally stopped crying.

Nikki looked up at him, studying his features—his bright eyes, framed by thick lashes, his dark brows, his nose, and… those lips, _god_ , those fucking lips. And without even thinking, Nikki closed whatever space was left between them as he pressed his lips to Tommy’s. Nikki’s heart was fucking _racing_ , beating out of his chest almost, but Tommy was kissing him back, his hands woven between strands of Nikki’s thick hair, and that’s all the bassist cared about.

“I…” Nikki pulled away suddenly, his eyes wide. His forehead was still _this close_ to Tommy’s as he pulled a strand or two of hair from his mouth.

“Whatever you’re gonna say, save it for later,” the drummer whispered, running his fingers along Nikki’s cheekbone, “Right now I just wanna…”

Tommy’s eyes, now sparkling with excitement, and his damn _smile_ were the last two images in Nikki’s mind as the drummer leaned in, connecting their lips once again. He had a hand cupped around Nikki’s cheek as he deepened the kiss, and Nikki’s head spun in the best possible way.

Until he stopped, jerking away again. “Oh god.”

Tommy pulled his hand from Nikki’s cheek, placing it on his thigh instead, then met his eyes with Nikki’s. The bassist fought back tears as Tommy said, his voice small, “I love you...?”

“Fuck,” Nikki cursed, hoping and praying that the drummer didn’t hear.

“Nikki, don’t do this. Don’t get all in your head again,” Tommy pleaded, lacing his fingers in between Nikki’s and then giving his hand a delicate squeeze. In that moment, it took everything in Nikki to not pull away. “Talk to me instead. Please?”

“I don’t—I don’t deserve this, T-Bone. I don’t deserve _you_ ,” Nikki struggled to get his words out, suddenly feeling a little too choked up. Tommy ran his thumb along the edge of Nikki’s palm. “You shouldn’t have to put up with my shit…Fucking hell, I wanna get high.”

More like _needed_ to get high, but whatever.

The drummer’s face fell. “You deserve the fuckin’ world, Nikki; why can’t you see that?”

If Nikki answered that, they’d be here all night—so he didn’t. Instead, he only laid his head on Tommy’s shoulder and told him, “I’d fuckin’ hate me if I were you, I—I don’t get it.”

“I could never hate you, Nikki,” Tommy mumbled, shaking his head. “I mean… We’re in this together, Sixx. Me and you. I fucking love you, I have ever since the night I met you and— _Fuck_. I’m always gonna love you.”

“I can’t—”

The drummer blinked a few tears away. “I just… I wish you’d love yourself as much as I do.”

 

/ / /

 

Nikki spent the rest of that night with a needle buried in his arm, or his neck, or between his toes, or—wherever it’d go, really. He had called Jason hours earlier, demanding that he brought over enough china white to fuck him up _good_ and send him into a sweet little oblivion.

…But it didn’t fix anything. It didn’t help like it usually did. He felt awful, honestly.

He couldn’t get Tommy’s words out of his mind.

_I’m always gonna love you._

_It’s me and you, Sixx._

_I wish you’d love yourself as much as I do._

He shut his eyes before the tears could fall, leaning his head against his closet door. Yeah, Nikki fuckin’ Sixx was a fuckup, but… he knew he’d hate himself forever if he fucked this up. He wanted to try, he really fuckin’ did. He wanted to give Tommy the world, because fuck, if anyone deserved it, it was him. But he couldn’t do that when he was always high out of his mind and, deep down, he knew that. It terrified him, but he knew it. So he stood up, still dizzy, and reached for the rest of the unopened balloons of china white that littered his dresser.

He slowly made his way to the bathroom, his feet dragging behind him as he did. Then he flicked the light switch on, took a deep breath, and flushed the rest of his drugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ???? u know what really bothers me? i have no idea what the little mini bottles of alcohol are called? so like.... if you do, let a bitch know HAHAH. 
> 
> this chapter wasn't that good lmao i am ~ A W A R E ~
> 
> feel free to roast me in the comments if u would like, i can take it don't worry <3


	9. courtesy call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this kinda took a while, i was tryna figure out how tf i wanted to end this chapter. and the title doesn't really go with the chapter lmao but w/e, i wanted to use it. hopefully this shit isn't too bad. also i don't wanna give anything away lol but trigger warning??? 
> 
> ENJOY.

Five hours. It had been five _fucking_ hours since Nikki decided to flush the rest of his drugs and, so far, he’d thrown up eight times already— _shit_ , that’s gotta be some kind of record or something; he’d laugh if it didn’t hurt so much—and his clothes were absolutely soaked with sweat despite the fact that he was freezing.

He had locked himself in the bathroom and hadn’t moved since. Why? Well… one, it kept him far, _far_ away from the phone, because he didn’t trust himself enough to not break down and call Jason in a fit of tears, and two, because it was convenient considering how sick he felt.

And—oh  _god_. Case in point. Nikki tightly pressed a hand over his mouth as yet another wave of nausea fucking _body-slammed_ him. It didn’t help, however, and the bassist ended up puking all over himself, feeling too drained and exhausted to even _attempt_ to crawl over to the toilet.

He had tried to kick drugs before but this was definitely the worst it’s ever been. Hands down.

 

/ / /

 

Nikki couldn’t sleep and he wanted to fucking scream, or kick something, or pull his damn hair out. The raven-haired bassist had been up for well over twenty-four hours now, and his eyes burned like a motherfucker. His throat burned like a motherfucker, too, and his legs had cramped up so bad he could barely move. Tears spilled from his bloodshot eyes, running down his cheeks and dripping off the tip of his nose, but he didn’t bother brushing them away.

 _Fuck this_. Despite the dizziness that made his head spin and the silver stars that now clouded his vision, Nikki managed to stumble over to his closet—his safe haven. He stared down at the used rigs that cluttered up almost every inch of his nightstand, the countless burnt spoons, the dirty cottons, the lemons. His arms were numb. He’d never felt so fucking low before in his entire life. He didn’t wanna feel like this anymore, didn’t wanna feel _anything_ anymore.

Then his eyes wandered to the pocketknife he kept on his dresser. His hands shook as he reached for it, fingers curling around the sharp blade, and a few tears quickly welled behind his eyes as he held it against the inside of his wrist. Taking a deep breath, Nikki tightened his grip on the handle. He used the back of his hand to catch the tears trailing down his cheeks, then squeezed his eyes shut; he couldn’t fucking look.

God, he just wanted to take the pain away. That’s all he ever wanted. That’s why he fell for heroin in the first place. That was why he let her in his veins. And now that she wasn’t here for him, Nikki didn’t know what to do—didn’t know how to fucking fix it, how to make it stop. He was freaking out, but he figured that this was as good a solution as any.

The room was silent except for Nikki’s sniffling. He stood there for what felt like forever, biting his lip, and he was about to drag the blade down his wrist as hard as he fucking could…Until he froze.

What the fuck was he _doing_? He didn’t wanna do _this_ , he realized; this shit was fucking with his head. All he wanted was to take the pain away and—he set the pocketknife back down on the dresser, frantically reaching for the phone instead.

He dialed Tommy’s number, then waited. And waited.

“Nikki?” the drummer answered on the second ring. Nikki let out a breath. “Hey, what’s going on? Do you need me to—”

“Yeah,” Nikki interrupted, now sobbing so hard he thought was gonna puke again. “P-please, T-Bone. Please.”

“Hey,” Tommy said softly. “I’m gonna grab my keys and then I’ll be on my way. Okay, Nikki?”

The drummer paused. It was quiet again, and Nikki wiped his eyes. Hearing Tommy’s voice helped him calm down, it always had.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Tommy,” Nikki echoed. “I love you so much, I—”

He couldn’t finish his sentence. The words died in his throat.

“I know,” Tommy whispered, and Nikki swore he felt his heart swell at that. “I know, Nik. I’ll see you in a few, alright?”

He hung up and Nikki just stood there, still clutching onto the phone. His muscles had started to ache and he could feel it all the way down to the fucking _bone_ ; it was the kind of pain that made Nikki grit his teeth until he felt like they were coming loose.

By the time Tommy knocked on his door, Nikki’s hair was completely drenched with sweat, matted to his forehead, and he’d thrown up for what had to be the fifteenth time or some shit like that. It hurt to swallow. It hurt to breathe. He felt like dog shit and he was sure that he looked it, too.

The sun was just beginning to rise over the Valley as Nikki opened the door, the pale morning light flooding into his dark house. Tommy’s car was parked in the driveway, and the drummer stood on the porch with a lit cigarette dangling between his fingers.

Nikki didn’t say anything—he couldn’t—and Tommy only stared at him with wide eyes. He took one last drag, then crushed his cigarette underneath his shoe as he asked, “Nikki, shit, are you okay?”

“I fucking flushed all my shit, T-Bone,” the bassist finally said. “Everything. All my dope, my fucking coke, I—”

“Holy  _shit_ , why didn’t you call me sooner?” Tommy asked, his voice now just barely louder than a whisper. He put an arm around Nikki’s shoulders and led him back inside the house, locking the door behind them.

“Because…I…” He hesitated, letting his sentence trail off. Truthfully, Nikki didn’t have a good answer for that one. “I didn’t wanna bother you? I—fuck. Didn’t really want you to see me like this.”

The drummer frowned, taking Nikki’s hand in his. “Remember what I told you yesterday, Sixx? We’re in this shit together. You’re never gonna _bother_ me. I just wish you fucking called sooner.”

They sat down on the couch. Nikki all but collapsed in Tommy’s arms, the drummer holding him close.

"I almost—I was gonna…” Nikki started, barely even registering what he was saying. He thought back to thirty minutes earlier when he was standing in his closet, fucking  _losing it_ and pressing a knife to his wrist, then immediately pushed that image out of his head. No, he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell Tommy that, he’d freak out and Nikki didn’t want him to worry even more.

“Hm?” Tommy said softly, stroking Nikki’s hair.

Nikki opened his mouth but before he could even get any words out, he threw up all over Tommy’s shirt.

“ _Fuck_ , Tommy, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’m so sorry, T-Bone. Goddamnit. Told you I didn’t want you to have to see this shit.”

Tommy only gave Nikki a smile, laughing as he did, and then pressed a quick kiss to his forehead. “I’ve seen worse, Sixx. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

“No,” Nikki whimpered. He shook his head as he mumbled into Tommy’s shoulder. A sharp pain jolted through his stomach, and Nikki bit down on his lip and grabbed a fistful of Tommy’s shirt until it subsided. “Hurts too much. I wanna shoot up. I wanna shoot up so fuckin’ bad.”

“Nikki…”

“I need it, Tommy,” the bassist cried, his shoulders shaking. “I need—I need _something_ , I can’t…”

“C’mon Nik, you need to get changed and so do I,” Tommy said, helping Nikki stand up and walk through the dark hallways to his bedroom. He flicked the light switch on, and Nikki watched as he eyed the paraphernalia on his nightstand, and dresser, and floor, and… Nikki suddenly wished he’d taken the time to throw that shit out. “Got a clean shirt I can borrow?”

Nikki nodded, handing him an old, worn out Alice Cooper tank top. He tried not to stare as Tommy peeled his stained t-shirt from his body, but that proved to be _much_ harder than he thought it would be.

“You look good in my clothes,” Nikki couldn’t help but say.

“Yeah?” Tommy smiled. He took a step towards Nikki, placing his hands on the bassist’s waist. Then he played with the hem of Nikki’s sweatshirt before pulling it over his head. “Nikki— _Jesus_ fucking Christ.”

Now Tommy was the one who couldn’t take his eyes off Nikki, staring at his prominent ribs and collapsed veins, his almost translucent skin, the abscesses and bruises that covered his body—and Nikki definitely noticed. How could he not?

“Stop it,” he pleaded in a choked voice. He dropped his eyes from Tommy’s because he didn’t think he could fucking do this; he couldn’t bring himself to look at the tears that started to collect behind them.

Nikki shivered as Tommy wrapped his arms around him, hugging him so tight it hurt.

“Baby, please,” the drummer used his thumb and index finger to slightly lift Nikki’s chin, and _fuck_ , his fucking _eyes_. _Goddamnit, Tommy_. “You need to get off this shit. _Please_ , Nikki, fuck. I-I can’t lose you, I’d—I almost lost you once, I can’t…I love you too much.”

“I…I’m gonna get clean for you, T-Bone,” Nikki sobbed, hiding his face in Tommy’s shoulder. “I promise.”

 

/ / /

 

Day one dope free. Nikki didn’t know how he made it to the morning, but he did somehow. He had Tommy drive him down to the clinic in Burbank to get his first dose of methadone, then they came back to Nikki’s place and threw away all his rigs. There was forty-six of them laying around—no use in keeping those anymore, Nikki thought. He also gave the pocketknife to Tommy and told him to get it the fuck out of here.

They went to the grocery store and got a bunch of stares, and then Tommy cooked for him before rehearsal—he insisted. Nikki even managed to get a few bites down, trying his best to forget about how badly his stomach hurt.

And that’s where he currently sat, alone at the kitchen table with a half-eaten plate of food in front of him (it was all he could handle at this point unless he wanted to throw up). He had his notebook in his lap and a pen tucked behind his ear, looking down at a page of unfinished lyrics. They were shitty; he wrote them when he was gone on an 8-ball and drunk off whiskey—so he reached for the pen, pulling the cap off with his teeth and crossing them out.

“Hi,” Tommy said, wrapping his arms around Nikki’s shoulders from behind. He gave Nikki a quick kiss on the cheek, then one on his shoulder before asking, “Ready?”

Nikki shook his head. “I just…wanna stay here with you.”

“I know, baby,” the drummer whispered. “I’d like that too.”

“I look like shit,” Nikki continued. “And feel like shit. Besides, I don’t think I could play right now even if I wanted to.”

“I’m proud of you, Nikki,” Tommy told him. He was now standing in front of where Nikki was sitting, and he took the bassist’s hands in his own. He bent down, gently kissing the corners of Nikki’s mouth before eventually brushing his lips over Nikki’s. “My Nikki, I’m so fucking proud.”

Nikki only sat there, eyes still closed and breathing heavy. “I’m scared, T-Bone.”

He felt Tommy give his hand a little squeeze.

“I’m scared I’m gonna fuck this up,” Nikki shakily confessed, running his tongue along his chapped lips. He didn’t trust himself. “I fuck everything up, I—”

“I’ll help you, Nik,” Tommy kissed his nose. “Me and you. I need you to remember that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so like, here's a secret. this is actually the alternate version of this chapter. THATS RIGHT LMAO I WROTE TWO VERSIONS. the first version is a lot shorter than this but also sAD. so if any of u wanna read it lemme know and i'll give u the google docs link. 
> 
>  
> 
> (disclaimer: idk how accurate all this is, i really did try to like, do my research and shit about heroin withdrawals but i'm not too sure still) 
> 
> one last thing. i cannot believe i have 9 chapters of this already. i usually write one shots so this is crazy to me.


	10. victory boulevard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello friends i'm back on my bullshit 
> 
> the name of this chapter is after victory blvd (obviously lmao) which if u don't know is a street that goes thru the entire san fernando valley (van nuys, burbank, north hollywood, etc). quick lil lesson from someone who lives in cali hahah. i needed a street name for this chapter and like, a location for the methadone clinic so i just kinda chose that one?? probs isn't actually where it was, just go with it okay lmao it sounds cool at the very least 
> 
> that's my disclaimer for this chapter, I'm done now. AIGHT ENJOY

Day two. No dope. Nikki couldn’t believe it’s been two days without junk already. Jason kept calling— _Fuckin’ dealers_. It got to the point where Nikki was so fed up that he thought about just fucking throwing the phone at the wall and calling it a day—but that was mainly because he wanted to answer. He wanted to answer so fucking bad.

This shit was fucking killing him, the withdrawals. It felt like someone was ripping his stomach open. Or stabbing him. Repeatedly. _Constantly_. And it never let up. It was like shock therapy to his guts, and Nikki could hardly move from where he laid on the couch. Tommy was in the kitchen, making something…Breakfast, maybe? Was it morning? The bassist didn’t know anymore.

He stared up at the ceiling. _Fuck_ , it even hurt to blink. Every single muscle in his body ached like a bitch. Muscles he didn’t even know he _had_ ached. Muscles that _shouldn’t_ ache _did_. His nose hadn’t stopped running, he had the chills, and his legs were shaking. This shit was definitely gonna kill him.

Nikki shut his eyes—Hopefully that would do something to help ease the burning pain behind them, although he seriously doubted it. Then he kicked the blanket off himself and rolled up his sleeves, suddenly feeling way too hot.

“Morning, Nikki,” Tommy walked out from the kitchen with a smile on his lips and two plates of what looked like scrambled eggs with toast in his hands. The drummer took a seat next to Nikki on the couch, giving him one of the plates, then asked, “How’re you feeling?”

Nikki set the plate down on the floor. “Awful.”

“You’ve gotta eat something before we go to the clinic, Nik,” Tommy said, quickly glancing over at the plate then back to Nikki.

“I can’t,” Nikki whined, shaking his head. At the moment, nothing in the world sounded even remotely appetizing to him. He felt too sick to eat. “Can we just… go to the clinic right now? I promise I’ll eat later. Please, baby? I feel—”

The drummer nodded, giving Nikki another smile. “Sure. Of course.”

Nikki groaned—a little too dramatically, maybe—as he sat up. The back of his shirt, as well as the couch cushions underneath him, were completely _drenched_ in sweat. He looked over at Tommy, who’d already devoured his own breakfast and was now working on finishing what Nikki couldn’t. The smell, even though it wasn’t strong at all, was too much for the bassist to handle. “I think I’m gonna puke, fuck.”

No, fuck that, he was _definitely_ gonna puke and he couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time.

So he leaned over the edge of the couch, throwing up onto the carpeted floors. It was better than puking all over his shirt again—or Tommy’s (Jesus, that was embarrassing). He was so dehydrated that almost nothing came up except yellow bile… Looked kinda like those scrambled eggs, Nikki thought, then cringed— _Oh god_. More puke. His chest burned as hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and he felt Tommy put an arm around his shoulders.

“Fucking _shit_ ,” Nikki sat up, wiping his mouth. At least the nausea went away for a moment, that was the only good thing about throwing up.

Tommy rubbed wide circles on his back, chuckling as he said, “You should take a shower.”

 

/ / /

 

Victory Boulevard. What a shithole area, Nikki couldn’t help but think as Tommy parked on the street outside the clinic. It was cold outside—and in the car—but Nikki felt like he was sitting in a fucking sauna. He was burning up, practically sweating bullets. _Fucking gross._

God damn, he really needed this dose of methadone.

Nikki tugged his sleeves up, then started picking at a nearly-healed scab by his elbow and yeah, he _knew_ he was gonna get another ugly scar because of it but he just… didn’t fucking care about that right now. His whole fuckin’ arm was itchy, _too_ itchy, so he dug his fingernails even deeper into the crook of his elbow and—

“Nikki, baby, stop. You’re gonna hurt yourself, you gotta let those heal up,” Tommy said softly, reaching for his hand and then threading his fingers between the bassist’s. Nikki stared at his now-bloody arm and _Jesus_ , that looked horrible. Absolutely fucking _awful_. He pulled his sleeve back down—he wasn’t in the mood to deal with all the judgy looks he knew he’d get, he never was. At least it was cold outside, it gave him a good reason for exclusively wearing long sleeves. He _definitely_ couldn’t get away with pulling that shit in the summer.

Tommy kissed Nikki’s cheek, then his hand before asking, “You ready, Nik?”

“Yeah,” the bassist said. As he opened the car door and stepped out, he pulled a pack of cigarettes, along with a lighter, from his pocket. “Can you, um… check in for me? I’m gonna, uh—real quick.”

He gestured to the box of cigarettes.

Tommy nodded, then paused, pressing a soft kiss to Nikki’s jaw.

The bassist struggled to light his cigarette, watching as Tommy disappeared inside the clinic. Then he stood there with his back against the wall, letting his eyelids fall over his tired eyes. He touched the tip of the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag, then paused to cough before taking another. His head pounded. It was too fuckin’ bright outside.

He took a couple more puffs before finally deciding that he’d be better off stopping—he’d probably puke if he didn’t. He covered his eyes with his free hand, wanting nothing more than to go home, curl up in his bed, and sleep this shit off.

It didn’t take long before someone’s voice caught Nikki’s attention, though. “Hey, man. You need a fix? You look like you could use one.”

The bassist’s eyes flew open, and he squinted as they adjusted to the daylight. There was a junkie standing in front of him—funny how _that_ worked, right? Junkies always seemed to be able to spot each other from a mile away; it was like they had some kind of fuckin’ sixth sense or some shit.

“I’ve got 8 balls, Persian…whatever you want, dude,” the man offered, sing-songy.

Nikki only stood there. He put his cigarette out against the wall.

_No. No no no no no. Don’t you fucking dare—_

“Yeah, man,” the bassist nodded, crushing what was left of the cigarette under the heel of his boot. Fuck, why did he say that?

_You’re a fucking idiot, Sixx._

“Cool. What can I getcha?”

Nikki fished a twenty-dollar bill or two out from his pocket. The dealer grinned, staring at the cash. Nikki’s voice felt scratchy in his throat and his words came out painfully slow as he said, “Persian.”

He eagerly exchanged his money for the small balloon, green eyes lighting up the moment it was in his hand. The corners of his mouth curved up into a smile as he stared down at the drug. Fuck, why did he do that?

_You’re standing outside a goddamn methadone clinic scoring a balloon of smack, for fuck’s sake. Jesus._

It was like he was on autopilot, not even _thinking_ until it was too late. He didn’t _want_ this shit.

“Thanks,” Nikki pocketed the drug. He swallowed, hard, his throat drier than cotton. Okay, maybe he did. Maybe he did want it. But he didn’t _want_ to want it, and that was the whole fuckin’ problem.

The man nodded, clapping Nikki on the shoulder. “My pleasure, brother. Thank _you_.”

Nikki’s eyes followed him as he continued to make his way down Victory Boulevard. The air felt heavy. His head still pounded and the sun still shone too bright. He turned and faced the clinic. That same smile was on his lips, the one that he now couldn’t possibly hide, as he pulled the heavy double doors open and stepped inside.

 

/ / /

 

Nikki felt okay enough to go to rehearsal later—Tommy asked him just about a million times if he wanted to stay home, but Nikki only declined. He was up for it. Methadone really _was_ a fuckin’ life saver. And so, thanks to the methadone, he walked into the studio with his bass in his left hand and Tommy’s hand in his right. The balloon of Persian weighed down his pocket like a fucking brick, it seemed like; the bassist _knew_ he should toss it but he couldn’t bring himself to—Just _having it here_ with him felt nice. Comforting, in a sick, fucked up kinda way.

“You’re on time, _damn_ ,” Vince’s dark eyes landed on Nikki, then Tommy. He gave them both a nod, his eyebrows slightly raised, “Tommy, what the fuck did you have to do to get Sixx here so early? Blowjob?”

The drummer laughed. “Shut the fuck up, man.”

 Nikki could feel his cheeks turning red as he dropped his eyes to the floor, looking away.

“I, uh—” Nikki mumbled, trying his best to piece a sentence together, but Vince interrupted almost immediately.

The blonde stared at him as he said, “Jesus, Nikki, you look terrible. And _sound_ terrible.”

Nikki only rolled his eyes. Leave it to Vince to always have some shit to say.

“You’re always so fuckin’ _nice_ to me, Vinnie,” he shot back, words dripping with sarcasm.

Tommy shrugged, turning towards Vince. “He’s got the flu, dude. You know how that shit goes.”

It was a lie they’d come up with in the car ride over. Nikki didn’t know how believable it was, but fuck, anything was better than the truth—that he was strung out, going through fucking _hell_ , and really needed a goddamn fix.

The blonde singer scoffed. “Yeah. _Right_. And I’m his favorite person in the world.”

Of course he wasn’t gonna fall for that shit. Vince could be stupid sometimes, but, to his credit, he’s not _that_ dumb. Nikki should’ve known better; he sure as hell wasn’t fooling anyone.  

Nikki pulled his hand away from Tommy’s, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. God, he needed to sit down. _Fuck_ , he was feeling fine (well… fine _enough_ ) just a second ago; what the hell happened? His breathing was shaky and his knees buckled as he collapsed on the couch, carelessly laying his bass on the floor.

Vince only side-eyed him. Mick didn’t say a word, sitting in the corner and off in his own little world thanks to too much Jack. Tommy knelt down beside the couch, whispering to Nikki that he was gonna be okay as he played with the bassist’s hair. Nikki leaned into it, shutting his eyes; Tommy’s hands felt good tangled in his thick mess of inky black hair.

 Nikki sat up suddenly, leaving Tommy looking a little confused. “I’m—I need to…uh… Bathroom.”

That wasn’t even _close_ to a coherent sentence, but it was the best Nikki could do for the time being. The bassist stood up a little too fast, ears ringing and blood rushing to his head, and then booked it to the bathrooms. He reached into his pocket, digging for the balloon of Persian and eventually pulling it out.  _Shit_ , he didn’t have a fuckin’ rig… He _did_ have a lighter and a dollar bill, though—guess just chasing the dragon was his only option. Nikki was so desperate that he’d settle for it, although he fucking hated actually _smoking_ dope.

“Nikki? Are you okay? I can take you home if you want…?”

It was Tommy. Of fucking _course_ it was; and that only made Nikki feel even worse, even guiltier. The bassist turned around, frantically shoving his hands behind his back. He managed to stammer out, “I’m okay, T-Bone, I just—”

Tommy arched an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

Nikki bit his lip to stop himself from crying. It was too quiet for too long, until he finally said, “I-I told you I was gonna fuck this up. Please don’t be mad.”

“Nik, what do you—?”

Before Tommy could finish that, Nikki held out the Persian with a sigh. He couldn’t work up the courage to look at the drummer. Hell, Tommy was probably gonna start screaming at him any second now.

But he didn’t, to Nikki’s surprise. He didn’t yell. Or flip out. He just took a half-step closer to the bassist, gently wrapping his arms around Nikki’s waist. Nikki could feel a hot tear running down his cheek as he rested his head on Tommy’s shoulder. “I…I’m sorry.”

Tommy took the drug from Nikki. Nikki let him.

“My Nikki, I love you,” he said quietly. “I’m not mad. This shit isn’t easy, I get it. I told you I’d help you, baby.”

The bassist let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Tommy threw the balloon in the trash before facing Nikki once again. Nikki didn’t anything, he only grabbed a handful of Tommy’s shirt, pulling the drummer close, and captured his lips in a kiss.

“Thank you,” Nikki mumbled against his lips. Tommy brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes. “Love you.”

Tommy smiled, taking Nikki’s hand in his. “Let’s get back in there before that blonde bitch fuckin’ kills us, yeah?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kind of a boring chapter, i know, i'm sorry, i don't like it either ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> HEY BUT AT LEAST IT WASN'T SAD :-) 
> 
> (lowkey i wanna write more one shots for the crue/the dirt sooooooo if you have any ideas you wanna see lemme know, also i made a side blog on tumblr that i miiiiight use for requests?? not sure yet tbh.) but yeah okay i'm gonna go get boba rn and try not to have a panic attack, thx for reading.


	11. looks that kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my favorite song by them.........<3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: *finishes a chapter and has to start writing a new one*  
> me: ah shit, here we go again
> 
>  
> 
> this is the longest chapter of this story i've written so far and that's bc like, 5 different ideas just fucking SLAPPED ME IN THE FACE ALL AT ONCE. the beginning of this is gross, i'm SORRY, i hate writing about this kinda stuff but you know i had to do it to 'em. also....... bit of a trigger warning on this one too, folks.

Day three was the worst so far, Nikki decided. The raven-haired bassist had spent almost the entire night in the bathroom, shitting and puking his fucking brains out. God damn. Definitely wasn’t pretty… He was glad Tommy wasn’t here to see this.

And that’s where he woke up the next morning, passed out face down on the tiled floor, puke decorating his hair and his clothes. His head was absolutely _killing_ him, never mind the still too intense muscle aches and the stomach cramps—it felt like someone had taken a fuckin’ baseball bat to the back of his skull.

Nikki didn’t wanna move from his spot on the floor, if he was being honest. Hell, he didn’t even think he could if he _tried_. So he shut his eyes again. His bitch ass wasn’t getting up for anything in the world. Or any _one_. Not right now, at least.

Maybe he’d try to take a shower later…  _Ha_ , who the fuck was he kidding? He knew that probably—most likely—wouldn’t end up happening. Feeling too sick and too strung out, while also just not giving enough of a fuck, didn’t really result in the best hygiene ever, after all. It’s not like Nikki wasn’t used to it, though: he’d been just as bad, if not worse, back in his days of hard-partying and living it up on the Sunset Strip, back when Mötley had just started to make it _big_ and Nikki had all the drugs, girls, alcohol, and money he could dream of—and now fuckin’ look at him. Ever wanted to be a rock star, kiddos? Sound fun? Not as glamourous as you might think. Sometimes it’s real fucked, like right now. Like _lying on the bathroom floor covered in your own shit and puke_ level of fucked. Nikki could’ve laughed at that, at himself and how fucking pathetic he was, but it took too much effort and his throat ached like a bitch. Instead, he only buried his head in his arms and attempted to doze off again.

 

/ / /

 

It didn’t work. Nikki was lucky if he got… _hell_. Twenty minutes of sleep, tops. He finally forced himself to get up, take a shower, and change his clothes—he’d been wearing the same ones for…how many days, now? The bassist had lost track. Yeah, not pretty. He forgot how good clean clothes felt.

His track marks were beginning to heal up, he noticed. He ever so slightly ran his fingers along the purple bruises as a smile snaked its way onto his lips. Maybe he was imagining it, and he really hoped he wasn’t, but he swore they didn’t look as bad today as they did yesterday.

Nikki took one last look at himself in the mirror before walking into his bedroom. He opened the blinds, something he hadn’t done in almost forever, untied all the scarves from around the lamps, and then sat down by the phone. He had a shit ton of voicemail messages to go through.

The first one was from Tommy.

“Nikki! Dude!” The bassist grinned at the sound of his voice. “Baby! I had this fuckin’ amazing idea for my drums, you’re gonna lose your shit when I tell you—it’s gonna be  _crazy_. Seriously, you’re gonna fuckin’ flip! Call me back when you get this, fucker. And let me know when you’re ready for me to take you to the clinic? I love you. Okay. You better fucking call me back! I wanna see you, baby. And you should really change that fucking message, it’s… uh, not cool, dude. I love you, my Nikki.”

Nikki was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

There were a few from Jason, asking him how he was and what he was doing, all that shit, and _if you ever need anything, man, you got my number, you know that._ Every single message was some variation of that… that, or _hey man, I just got some Persian for cheap, lemme know if you want some._

He ignored those. It had gotten a little easier for him to do.

The last message, though, made him freeze.

“Frankie? It’s your mom… I haven’t heard from you in a while, you never did tell me if ‘Looks that Kill’ was about me or not… Anyways, Frankie, your sister and I miss you, honey, call me back when—”

That’s when Nikki stopped listening. That’s when he broke down.

“That’s not my fucking _name_!” Nikki cried. His screams sounded even louder in his empty bedroom, blood running hot and anger coursing through his body as he punched the wall behind him over and over. All he saw was red. “Fuck you!”

 _Frankie_. She’d called him Frankie. Even after he told her not to, even after he lost his shit and cursed her out in that hotel lobby in front of Doc, scaring almost every single guest who happened to be there.

He wanted to smash the phone to pieces. “Fuck!”

 _Frankie_. It stung.

Deana never fucking cared about _Frankie_. She didn’t give a shit. Walked out on Frankie twice, at three and again at six, as if once wasn’t painful enough. She didn’t _care_. Not until Frankie became Nikki Sixx, that is. Nikki Sixx who’d started a band, made it big in LA. Nikki Sixx who was making millions, because that’s probably all he was good for in her eyes, all she wanted from him. Nikki Sixx who was nothing more than a fucking meal ticket.

Nikki didn’t even realize he was crying but  _god_ , once he did he couldn’t stop. His chest hurt as he tried to catch his breath, using the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe away his tears in a frenzy.

His fist came into contact with the wall again, and the bassist bit down on his lip to stop himself from screaming. He needed to call Jason. He needed to fucking call Jason right _fucking_ _now_ because he needed to shoot up.

The dealer answered almost immediately. “Sixx! What’s up, man? How’s it goin’?”

Nikki sucked in a breath, holding it for a few seconds before he growled, “You know what’s up, asshole. Don’t fucking give me that shit.”

He wasn’t in the mood for small talk.

Jason just laughed. “Come by the Franklin Plaza, dude.”

Then he hung up. Before Nikki left, he paused and took a minute to call Tommy back, dialing his number to tell him that he didn’t need to bother driving him to the clinic. He had something a little more important to take care of.

Tommy picked up on the first ring.

“Nik, did you get my message?” the drummer asked, excited. “Lemme tell you about my idea, you’re gonna love it—”

Nikki cut him off. “Yeah, baby, I did. Can you tell me later? At rehearsal?”

“Uh, yeah… Sure,” Tommy said.

“I’m sorry,” the bassist apologized once he heard the disappointment in Tommy’s voice. “I, um… I have to go take care of some shit… I feel okay enough to drive myself down to the clinic today.”

There was a pause. “Are you sure? Nikki, I can take you—”

“I’m not a fucking _kid_ , Tommy,” Nikki snapped. “Jesus, I can fucking drive myself.”

Shit, he didn’t mean to raise his voice like that. _Shit shit_ shit. God damn it. Nice one, Sikki. Way to fuckin’ go.

“Oh. Yeah, sorry, I know,” Tommy stammered. “I’ll see you later?”

Nikki nodded. “Yeah.”

“I love you,” the drummer said.

“Love you,” Nikki mumbled, anxious to hang up already so he could get his fix.

 

/ / /

 

The bassist started his car, turning his keys in the ignition, and he had to stop himself from punching the window when the first thing he heard was ‘Looks that Kill’ blasting on the radio at almost full-volume.  

Of course, right? Of course that fucking song would be playing right now. The universe had to be fucking with him or something, that’s the only explanation Nikki had. He changed the channel, feeling a few tears prick the inner corners of his eyes.

It felt weird driving to the Franklin Plaza. He had _died_ there, for fuck’s sake. It felt even weirder walking into a room that looked identical to the one he was in when he overdosed. He had to shove his hands in his pockets to stop them from shaking.

“Nikki!” Jason greeted him, holding his palm out for a high-five. Nikki only stood there, and Jason awkwardly dropped his hand.

“Hit my neck for me.”

They pushed their way through the sea of people—all junkies, some laying passed out on the floor—and Jason led Nikki to an empty corner in the back, illuminated by the sunshine streaming in from the window. _Fuck_ , it was bright. Practically glowing white, and Nikki squinted as he sat down.

“How’ve you been, man?” Jason asked, cooking up Nikki’s fix in a silver spoon. Nikki watched, mesmerized. “How’s Tommy?”

“Don’t.”

“I was just—”

Nikki’s words were slow. “Fucking. Don’t.”

Jason filled the syringe. “Damn, Nikki, chill.”

“Jason, god damn it, just fucking shoot me up already,” Nikki demanded, angry; his hunger for the drug only grew more and more intense every second that it wasn’t trickling through his veins.

He whimpered as he felt the needle prick his skin, screwing his eyes shut until it was over. Every muscle in Nikki’s body instantly relaxed as soon as the high hit him, and it was even _better_ than he remembered. Fuck trying to get clean, fuck methadone, fuck everything. This is what he needed— _she’s_ what he needed; smack did the trick like no other.

“Mm, fuck,” Nikki moaned, throwing his head back in pleasure. From beside him, Jason chuckled. “Fuckin’ Persian, damn. You know, I still have no fucking idea if there even still  _is_ a Persia.”

“Of course there’s still a Persia,” Jason laughed. “That’s where the fuckin’ cats are from, dude.”

Nikki rolled his eyes, slurring his words as he retorted, “Those are _Siamese_ , you dumbass, I—”

He had to stop; he felt dizzy all of a sudden.

 

/ / /

 

_The sound of T. Rex’s ‘Solid Gold Easy Action’ helped to drown out the noise in Frankie’s head…And there was a lot of it. A hell of a lot. So he turned up the volume, grabbing his bass guitar and strumming along to the music._

_Music was his life. As cliché as that sounded, it was. He didn’t have much else. Deana was a druggie who prioritized her one night stands over him, and his father was—_

_There was a loud knock on his door, followed by two more. He simply ignored it, cranking the volume up even louder until he couldn’t hear that shit anymore. He didn’t fucking care, all he wanted to do was rock out and lose himself in his own little world for a while. He needed to; it was an escape. A fucking good one, at that._

_“Turn it fucking_ down _, Frankie!” Deana pounded her fists against his door._

_He flipped her off, doing the exact opposite._

_His eyes were closed as he held his bass, singing along to the song and jumping around his tiny bedroom. He didn’t notice Deana walk in, heading straight for the record player and grabbing the needle, lifting it up and to the side. The music stopped._

_It was quiet as they stared at each other, a drink in Deana’s hand. Vodka, probably._

_“What’s that?” she asked angrily, eyeing the bass guitar._

_“What’s it look like?” Frankie retorted._

_He clenched his jaw tight as yet another one of Deana’s revolving door of one night stands draped an arm around her, his eyes now on him too._

_“Where’d you get it?” Deana raised a brow._

_“He probably stole it,” the man smirked._

_Frankie looked the man up and down. “Who the fuck is this guy?”_

_Deana ignored him. “You think I don’t know where you got all this shit?!”_

_“So you noticed something I did!” Frankie yelled. It was about time. “For once!”_

_“Don’t talk to your mother like that, you little prick.”_

_Okay, last straw. That’s it. Frankie glared daggers at him, screaming, “Seriously? Who the fuck are you?”_

_So_ he  _was the prick? This fucking dude had no right to talk to him that way. He didn’t even_ know him _. He took a step back, still staring him down as he added, “Y’know what? I don’t even care. There’s gonna be another you tomorrow, anyways.”_

_“You wanna know who this is?” Deana snapped, sipping her alcohol. “He’s another man in my life that you’re gonna drive away, just like you did your fucking father!”_

_“I was two years old, you bitch!” Frankie screamed, suddenly very aware of the tears that had begun to gather behind his eyes. He blinked them away. No way in hell was he gonna cry in front of Deana. “He left_ you _!”_

_Deana bent down, eye to eye with Frankie, brushing a section of his hair from his forehead. Her hand rested underneath his chin, now, as she taunted, “Then how come he never tried to call you, Frankie?”_

_“Fuck you!” Frankie lost it, clutching his bass tight and then smashing it against the wall. He ran towards the door, slamming it and making sure to turn the lock. “Get the fuck outta here!”_

_“Open the fucking door, Frankie!”_

_He didn’t. Fuck her. He turned over a chair, angrily throwing it to the ground before pushing over his desk. There was a loud bang as it hit the floor, and then he flipped his mattress, reaching for the knife he kept hidden underneath it as Deana continued to bang on the door._

_“You little shit, open the fucking door!”_

_He clutched the knife, holding it at his side as he did. He looked her dead in the eyes as he dragged the blade down his arm, dark red blood quickly beginning to flow from the jagged cut. This’ll fucking show her, he thought._

_…Until it didn’t._

_He expected her to freak out and break down, screaming and crying, begging him to stop…until she didn’t._

_“You think that’ll make me care?” Deana sneered, eyebrows raised. “Hell, do it again, Frankie. See if I give a shit!”_

_Tears rolled down his cheeks, blurring his vision, as he did. Deana only stood there as she laughed at him, obviously not caring that her own son was slicing the shit out of his arm. She didn't care. She never fucking had, and it stung. Blood dripped onto the floor. It covered the shiny blade, covered his arm. Frankie felt lightheaded as he wiped his tears away, the sound of Deana’s laughter ringing in his ears._

 

/ / /

 

“Fuck, holy shit,” Nikki gasped, his breathing heavy. He stared at his arm, running his fingers along the barely-visible scar etched into his pale skin. It was just a dream. Just another bad dream. There was no blood, no cuts.

His eyes slowly adjusted as he looked around. He was in a hotel room. Laying on the floor. There was a burnt spoon and an empty syringe next to him.

 _Right_ , he was here with Jason. He was here at the Franklin Plaza, not back in his shitty bedroom in Seattle with Deana. _Here_. Not there.

“You okay?” Jason asked, eyes fixed on Nikki and a confused expression on his face.

The bassist took a few deep breaths, sitting up. He started to zone out as he stared at the wall in front of him, and he couldn’t hide the shakiness in his voice as he said, “Give me an 8-ball and I will be.”

“Sure, dude,” Jason handed him a clear baggie of ivory powder. Nikki wasted no time, pulling the seams of the baggie apart. He messily dumped the drug out on the floor and used a dollar bill that he found in his pocket to snort it.

“I gotta go,” Nikki stood up as soon as he’d finished his line, leaning against the wall to steady himself. The sun had started to set over the Valley, telling him it had to be at least half past five already. “I—I’m late for rehearsal.”

Jason offered him a smile, nodding. “Don’t be a stranger, Nikki.”

 

/ / /

 

Nikki managed to make it there in a fairly reasonable amount of time, despite the traffic…  _and_ despite being absolutely coked out of his skull. The studio door was propped open, he noticed, as he walked down the long hallway. He could hear Tommy talking to… Vince, Nikki assumed?

He hung back, listening with his shaky hands buried deep in his pockets.

“—Yeah, dude,” that was Tommy, enthusiasm laced throughout his words. “Nikki’s doing fuckin’ great! Like, going to the clinic and shit every day, starting to write again, hell, even wanting to play again… I think he really fuckin’ wants this.”

“Mm. Then why isn’t he here right now?” Vince countered.

Nikki stood there, back against the wall, exhaling. He swallowed, then frowned.

“He’s coming, man,” Tommy said.

Vince scoffed. “I’m sure he is.”

The bassist hesitated before finally walking into the studio, the sound of his boots loud on the floor. As soon as Tommy saw him, his eyes lit up. He ran over to Nikki, pulling him into a hug.

“Nikki!” he grinned, resting his arm around Nikki’s shoulders and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, then looked back at Vince. “See, asshole? Fuckin’ told you!”

“Hi. Sorry I’m late. Traffic,” Nikki gave the drummer a closed-lipped smile and a shrug, his voice a whisper. “Can we sit down?”

Tommy nodded, “Yeah, yeah. For sure! Let me tell you about my idea, dude! I’ve been waiting all fuckin’ day!”

Nikki melted into the couch cushions, kicking his feet up on the table (the table a _mess_ of empty whiskey bottles; some came crashing down to the floor). Tommy was sitting on his lap, now, with Nikki’s arm around his waist.

“Okay, baby,” Nikki nodded, gently kissing his neck. “Lemme hear it.”

The drummer grinned, meeting his brown eyes with Nikki’s green ones. Nikki instantly looked away. “It’s fuckin’ _sick_ , it’s gonna be even better than…”

And that’s when Nikki spaced out. He couldn’t concentrate on a _word_ Tommy was saying. All he could think about was how high he was right now, and how much he was enjoying his high—and how shitty he felt because of it, because Tommy didn’t  _know_ ; Tommy thought he was still clean and sober and on methadone and _trying_ for him.

_Way to fuck everything up, Sikki. As usual._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo, i wrote this when i was in a really fucking bad mood lmfao can you tell?? sorry. i'm still in a bad mood lowkey. ignore me. also sorry if you read this and expected it to like, be good and well written. we don't do that around here. why am i still writing this. lmao i can't believe i have eleven chapters of this bullshit.
> 
>  
> 
> roast me in the comments, ready go:


	12. just like old times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all, LISTEN - my last two brain cells worked really hard on writing the last chapter. this one is gonna be bit of a Filler Chapter™ so...... yeah. lmao it's pretty short. don't expect updates this quick hahaha i don't even know who tf i am right now updating this so quick.

“I haven’t drank in, like, a week, dude!” Tommy beamed, walking from Nikki’s kitchen out into the living room where Nikki was currently sitting on the couch, attempting to write some lyrics and then  _maybe_ mess around with his bass after. MTV blared in the background; Nikki wasn’t paying attention in the slightest. He’d always hated MTV anyways. “No blow, too! I feel fucking great!”

Nikki glanced over at the drummer, pulling his eyebrows together as he said, “You—what? Uh… why?”

Tommy picked up Nikki’s bass, moving it from where it rested on his lap to one of the empty couch cushions, then straddled him. Nikki’s breath caught in his throat. Tommy was an inch at most away from Nikki (there was hardly any space between them) and his chestnut hair cascaded around the two of them in waves, tickling the bassist’s cheekbone, as he said softly, “You’re getting clean, baby. And I’m so fucking proud of you. Figured I might as well do the same, it doesn’t make sense that I’m still doing all this shit when you’re not. I told you we’re in this together. Hell, I even talked to Vince and Mick and they said they’d do it too, dude! Because we all fuckin’ love you, Nik.”

The drummer kissed his forehead, and Nikki’s lips curved ever so slightly into a frown which he desperately tried to hide. He had his arms wrapped around the small of Tommy’s back, now, staring at the silver ring that adorned his nose. Then he shook his head, thick black hair swaying along with the movement, and his voice came out a little too shaky as he argued, “Babe, you… don’t have to do _that_.”

“Are you fucking crazy?” Tommy laughed, cupping a hand around Nikki’s cheek before brushing his lips against the bassist’s. It was a soft, breathy, barely-there ghost of a kiss that had ended almost as quickly as it started, and then Tommy had pulled away and was saying, “I know I don’t have to. But I want to. For you.”

Nikki bit down on his lip, eyes low on the ground as Tommy played with his hair.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Tommy asked, confused, eyes lingering on Nikki. Nikki wished he’d cut it the fuck out. He gently tucked a section of Nikki’s hair behind his ear. Nikki pulled it right back.

 _What’s wrong_ was that he’d just shot up 10cc’s of heroin not even fifteen minutes ago, but Nikki couldn’t tell him that.

“I…” Nikki eventually exhaled, then paused to wet his lips with his tongue. “Think you should go.”

The room was agonizingly silent after he said that, silent to the point where all you could hear were your thoughts and a fucking pin dropping. The kind of quiet that Nikki utterly hated. Tommy suddenly tore his hand from Nikki’s cheek, worry written all over his face and his honey brown eyes wide. “I—Nik, what did I do? Did I say something?”

Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Nikki felt like shit. The drummer looked like he was biting back tears with that fucking _frown_ on his face and the way his lower lip slightly quivered—It was the subtlest thing but Nikki still noticed.

He sighed. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Nikki, please talk to me…?” Tommy’s voice cracked.

It was silent again. Without thinking, Nikki rolled his eyes. “I’m fuckin’ tired of talking. Can you leave?”

Tommy didn’t try to fight him on that. Didn’t even say anything. He just stood up, turned around, and headed towards the front door, all the while Nikki sunk even deeper into the couch and let his eyelids fall over his tired hazel eyes.

Nikki could hear the door open, then quietly close, and he felt guilty as hell.

 

/ / /

 

Guilty enough to spend the whole day locked in his closet shooting up, apparently. _Forget about it, Sixx._ Just forget about it. Shoot more drugs. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about how fucking sweet Tommy always is to you and how fucking _stupid_ you are. How you fucked this up. How you relapsed. How you promised him you’d get clean. _For him_. And then you didn’t. How you couldn’t even go three fucking days without junk. _More fucking smack_. Hell, you’ve fucked up this bad already; might as well keep going. Might as well let this shit fucking kill you.

God. Nikki rested his head in his hands.

 _Nikki, you’re a dumbass. Nikki, shoot up._ _Nikki, you’re an asshole._ _Nikki, you’re a fuckup. Nikki, you better fucking shoot up right_ fucking  _now, god damn it._ _Nikki, you sure as hell don’t deserve him and this just proves it._ He wanted to slam his head through the fucking wall.

He didn’t, though. He only filled another syringe and let his eyes roll back as he injected, smiling as he felt the drug slowly creeping through his ruined veins.

His eyes drooped; he could barely keep them open anymore. His vision had started to blur and the room suddenly felt like it was a thousand degrees. Like he was sitting in the middle of the fuckin’ sun. His heart was beating so fast that he felt as if it was gonna fucking burst out of his chest any second now.

He was fucking pathetic. He should’ve just—fucking hell. Shoulda slit his wrists when he had the goddamn chance. Made things a little easier. A sob escaped his lips as he dug his nails into the thin skin of his wrist, hard enough to draw a little blood. Good lord, he really _was_ fucked with the drugs and fucked without them. Couldn’t live with them, didn’t wanna live without them. Or maybe he was just too scared to face reality without them. Either way, it was fucked. _He_ was fucked and fucked up. It was a lose-lose situation.

He fucking hated himself for it.

/ / /

 

They were all supposed to go down to the Cathouse in Hollywood later tonight. Ten p.m. Vince had said something about, like, how it would be good for them, just like old times… or some shit. He was probably just looking for another excuse to take a few girls home, knowing him. Nikki wasn’t looking forward to it in the slightest. He didn’t even know who the fuck was _playing_ tonight… Hopefully it wasn’t some shitty band with a shitty name.

He stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing his reflection. He looked too sick to go out. Like he was on death’s fucking doorstep, and he might as well be. God. He had lost so much weight a supermodel would be jealous and his skin was tinged yellow—or gray. Kind of a mix of both, actually… Whatever the fuck you’d call that color. Nikki decided on ‘not pretty.’ His dull green eyes looked empty. His collarbones stuck out too much.

Ten p.m. crept up quickly, and before Nikki knew it, he found himself sitting around a table with his bandmates underneath the low lighting of the Cathouse.

The bassist had shot up in the bathroom not even five minutes after they’d arrived, and it was safe to say that he was now  _fully_ out of it. No one seemed to question it, though. Smoke hung in the air in wisps as Nikki sipped his water, wishing he had something harder. Like a whiskey on the rocks, maybe. The music sounded good, Nikki thought. Hazy, but good, although Nikki still didn’t know who was playing. He made a mental note to find that out before he left.  

Two blondes hung on each side of Vince, the singer obviously loving all the attention he was getting judging from the wide grin on his lips. Mick sat on the end, with his eyes fixed on the band performing onstage. Tommy was right next to Nikki, an empty cup of water on the table in front of him. Nikki stared at the melting ice cubes. 

Things were too quiet between the two of them, just like it’d been earlier after Nikki had snapped at him and told him to leave.

Nikki took a breath, hesitating. What the fuck did he even wanna say? He needed to apologize, to do _something,_ to fucking tell him—

Before he could figure that out, though, another little blonde girlie walked over to their table. She twirled a section of her long hair around her index finger as she exclaimed, “Holy shit! You’re _Nikki_ fucking _Sixx_!”

Nikki smiled just to be polite, giving her a nod.

She pushed her way onto his lap, leaning in close and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. None of it really caught Nikki’s attention—her words had started to blend together—until she told him, “I know where you can get the _best_ china white.”

 _The best, huh?_ Now Nikki was interested. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she echoed, placing a hand on his chest. “You should come with me.”

It caught Nikki off guard when she suddenly closed the gap between them, roughly kissing him. All he could do was sit there for a while, frozen. Then he quickly pulled away, ignoring her confused (or was it angry?) expression.

Nikki’s face fell when he looked over and saw that Tommy was gone.  

He leaned back in his seat while the blonde ran her fingertips up and down his arms. He let his eyes close, frowning. God damn, he could really use a hit of that china white right about now.  _Especially_ now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all right. so. um. i have a confession to make. someone (me) was a dumbass and didn't plan this story out at all. so that means I! HAVE! NO! FUCKING! IDEA! HOW! I! WANT! THIS! TO! END!!!! i also don't know how long it's gonna be? so.... that's cool, i guess. just, like, fun fact about this story. I LOVE JUST FUCKING WINGING EVERYTHING. thanks for sticking around LMFAO i am a mess <3


	13. i think i'm okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO MTV WELCOME TO THE LONGEST CHAPTER I'VE WRITTEN. i'm uploading this rn because i finished it and i didn't think i would but i fuckin DID. the name of this chapter is after machine gun kelly's song "I think I'm OKAY" lol idk i just liked it 
> 
> i feel like i should apologize in advance for what you're gonna read. lmao. i don't wanna be that bitch who spoils anything so, like, i'll write more at the end. also lemme just say again that all of this shit is MADE UP as HELL. 
> 
> enjoy????? ;)

 

Turns out blondie wasn’t lying, that was some of the best smack Nikki’s had in, hell, he couldn’t even remember how long. He’d gotten too used to shooting cheap ass Persian, but _this_? This knocked him out _good_ , gave him a rush that felt like pure fucking bliss. Something he hadn’t felt in a while, something he’d desperately craved. And when he woke up the next morning, naked and lying on the floor in the middle of a small apartment he didn’t recognize, he couldn’t remember a fuckin’ _thing_. God bless china white, but he really needed to get the fuck outta here.

He sat up, groaning, then pulled his t-shirt over his head. Did he—? Oh _fuck_. His eyes landed on the used condom carelessly discarded on the little coffee table that sat adjacent to the worn couch. Sunlight poured in from the open windows. Nikki could just barely hear that annoying ringing starting up in his ears as he shimmied back into his tight leather pants.

He threw on his jacket, paused to quickly pocket a couple more balloons of that china white—for later, then looked around, paranoid. The room was still empty. No sign of the girlie from last night, whatever the fuck her name was. Nikki didn’t know. He didn’t care to find out, either. Right now, all he cared about was getting the _fuck_ out.

Except… there was a bit of a problem with that, Nikki quickly realized, just as he was about to pull the door open: he didn’t fucking drive himself last night. All four of the Crüe boys had rode with Vince down to the Cathouse last night, _all_ crammed in his flashy red Ferrari. And who knows how the fuck he ended up here—wherever _here_ was. God damn it, he was fucked. He bit his fingernails, his anxiety growing and growing and _growing_.

“Leaving so soon, Mr. Sixx? I was thinking that you could maybe… stay for a little while longer?”

Nikki turned to face the blonde, not even trying to hide the grimace that was now plastered on his face. _Mr. Sixx?_ The fuck? He didn’t change his name to Nikki fuckin’ Sixx just to get called _that_ bullshit. He knew she was probably just trying to be cute with her little porn star voice and all, but still. Nikki stammered, “I… um, I have… rehearsal. I—can I use your phone?”

She pouted and crossed her arms, but gave in anyways and led the bassist to the tiny kitchen where the receiver sat on the countertop.

"Thank you, darling,” Nikki gave her a smile.

He was stupid enough to try to call Tommy. He wasn’t at all surprised when the drummer didn’t pick up; hell, he expected it.

He hesitated before eventually dialing Vince’s number, holding the phone close to his ear. Nikki could count the amount of times he’s willingly called Vince before on one hand, and—

“Who the fuck is this?” Vince’s nasally voice sounded groggy and thick with exhaustion as he answered. He probably just woke up, and when the blonde didn’t get his full twelve hours of sleep, he… wasn’t fun to deal with. To say the least. Really brought out his bitchy attitude.

The bassist chuckled. “It’s Nikki.”

“Sixx? What the fuck? It’s… fucking nine a.m. On a Saturday. Not cool, man.”

“Can you do me a favor?” Nikki asked.

There was a pause on Vince’s end. “Fuck, Sixx. I don’t know, depends. Should I be scared? Like, this isn’t gonna get me arrested or some shit, right?”

Nikki laughed breathily, rolling his eyes. “No. I, um, need you to pick me up? I don’t… I don’t know where the fuck I am.”

“Then how the _fuck_ am I supposed to—”

Nikki cut in before the singer could finish that. “I’ll fuckin’ figure it out, man. Just… calm down, you fuckin’ drama queen.”

“Hey, fuck you!”

/ / /

 

It took Vince almost two hours to get there after Nikki’d rattled off the address to him—that fucker. And in those two hours, Nikki had already shot up once more, snorted a little blow off the coffee table, _and_ blondie had offered him some… Valium, he thought? Sounded right, but Nikki couldn’t remember at this point.

When Nikki finally spotted Vince’s Ferrari parked along the curb, he was too wrecked to even stand. It was a goddamn miracle that he actually managed to pull himself up off the floor, and he nearly fell down the stairs trying to make it out of the dingy apartment complex. He felt like the biggest dumbass imaginable.

“Hey, man,” Vince greeted him once he stumbled into the car, collapsing in the passenger seat.

“Hey,” Nikki echoed. His words dragged.  

It was too bright outside. Nikki wished he had a pair of sunglasses. He shut his eyes and leaned his head back, listening to the calming sound of the tires against the asphalt. His eyes snapped right back open when Vince hit the brakes too hard, probably on purpose.

“ _Jesus_ ,” the bassist hissed, lurching forward.

Vince looked over at him for a moment, shades covering his dark eyes. “You’re still doing that fucking shit, aren’t you?”

"Excuse the _fuck_ outta me?” Nikki raised an eyebrow, defensive.

“Sixx, I’m not stupid. I know you’re high right now.”

The bassist shot him a glare as he growled, “So?”

What the fuck did it matter to _Vince_ , anyway?

“ _So_ are you gonna tell Tommy?” Vince asked, taking a left turn a little too fast and causing Nikki to grip the door handle. The blonde shrugged as he continued, “I mean, I think you should, man.”

“And I think _you_ should mind your fucking business, Neil,” Nikki snapped.

“Whatever, asshole. Fuck, the _one_ fuckin’ time I actually try to give you advice...”

The car fell noticeably quiet. Nikki attempted to distract himself by staring out the window, but it didn’t work quite as well as he’d hoped. His mind kept wandering to the chestnut-haired drummer: all he saw when he shut his eyes was that fucking _look_ on Tommy’s face. He didn’t even wanna imagine how it must’ve felt for Tommy to see that blonde chick climbing all over him last night. God, Nikki needed to apologize.

“Vin?” he eventually said.

“Yeah, Sixx?”

“Can we stop at Tommy’s?”

The blonde nodded, sighing. “Yeah, Sixx.”

/ / /

 

So,  _fuck_. Here Nikki was again, standing outside Tommy’s door on the front porch, nervous. Vince decided to hang back in the car (good choice), so it was just Nikki up there by himself and  _Jesus fucking Christ, Sixx, c’mon. Stop being such a little bitch and pull yourself the fuck together._ He took a deep breath, then knocked on the door. His stilettos were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world (and not to mention painful; Nikki was kicking himself right about now for not choosing a pair of sneakers instead).

Nikki snuck a glance at Vince’s car. Maybe he should just turn around and leave, Tommy obviously wasn’t gonna—

“What the fuck do you want, Nikki?”

The bassist chewed on his lower lip, trying trying _trying_ to ignore how much it hurt to hear Tommy call him just ‘Nikki’ and not ‘Nik’ or ‘baby,’ or—his favorite—‘my Nikki.’ He’d really fucked up this time. What the fuck was new?

The whites of Tommy’s eyes were glassy and tinted red, Nikki noticed, and he held a bottle of whiskey in his hands. Nikki sighed, cursing under his breath as he thought back to yesterday when the drummer had burst into the living room, full of excitement as he gushed to Nikki about how he hadn’t had a drink in a week.

He looked up at Tommy with teary green eyes, his voice quivering as he said, “I… Baby—”

“Stop, dude,” Tommy interrupted, slurring, then took a long swig from the amber-colored bottle.

“Tommy,” Nikki whined. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I fucked up, I’m a dumbass. But I-I love you.”

The drummer pressed his lips together. “Do you, Nikki? That girl—Why the fuck am I never enough for you?”

Nikki’s eyes went wide as he protested, “You _are_ , baby, I swear—I love you so fucking much, Tommy, please don’t…please—”

“You’ve got a really fucking funny way of showing it, then, Sixx,” Tommy snapped, rolling his eyes before slamming the door so hard that it almost made Nikki jump.

Nikki walked back to the car with a frown on his lips and tears rolling down his cheeks, ignoring Vince’s questions.

 

/ / /

 

Alcohol didn’t help, didn’t work at all. Nikki was drunk as fuck but he still needed something harder, so he tossed the now half-empty bottle of Jack aside. It tipped over, soaking the floor. Nikki didn’t give a shit.

He couldn’t take his eyes off the silver spoon full of china white, now, hands shaking as he ran a lighter underneath it. The ivory powder slowly began to melt down; Nikki momentarily zoned out as it transformed into that clear liquid he fuckin’ _loved_ , bubbling as it did so. He reached for the rig on the dresser beside him, filling it up with the drug and making sure he got every last drop.

He tied off his arm, holding the belt in place with his teeth as he plunged the needle into the first vein he saw.

The high didn’t hit quick enough and that’s when Nikki started to fucking flip, to panic. He grabbed the Jack, threw back whatever was left inside, then smashed it against the wall. That didn’t do much for him, either. Tears stung his green eyes. His throat burned as he picked up one of the glass shards, a sob threatening to escape from his lips.

He lightly ran his thumb along the edge of the glass, biting his lip.

He had taken a good thing and fucked it all up in just one night. One stupid fucking night. He’d lost his Tommy. His fucking world, his best friend, his Terror Twin. Again. But maybe it was for the best, Nikki thought. Maybe—no, definitely. Tommy _definitely_ didn’t deserve a fucking junkie like Nikki; Nikki had tried to tell him that from the beginning. The drummer didn’t fucking listen. He never had—to anyone, not just Nikki. If only Nikki wasn’t such a fuckup, then maybe he could’ve given Tommy _more_. Could’ve loved him better.

Fuck, Nikki couldn’t take this anymore. He should’ve done this shit a long time ago—He’d come close quite a few times but never went through with it. He clutched the glass. Tonight was gonna be different.

He wanted to hear Tommy’s voice one last time, though.

So he picked up the phone, punching in his number. Nikki knew it by heart, had it memorized. It rang once, loud in Nikki’s eardrums. Twice. Three times. Nikki could feel his heart sinking into his stomach.

Until the ringing stopped. It was silent on the other end for a few seconds before he eventually heard Tommy say, “Nikki?”

Nikki had his eyes fixed down on the piece of glass, a tear dripping off his chin and then splattering against its smooth surface. “Love you, baby.”

His throat felt tight. So did his chest. Tommy was quiet.

“Sorry for all the shit I’ve put you through,” the bassist continued. His eyes wandered to the bloody syringe and the unopened balloon of smack on his dresser—he didn’t have another clean rig but fuck it. That didn’t matter. He needed the high so fucking bad.

He reached for it, wiping his nose. “I fucked up, baby, I couldn’t fucking stay clean. And I’m sorry. I-I hate myself for it, too.”

“Are you… Nik, are you high right now?” Tommy asked softly.

Nikki nodded to himself. “Really fuckin’ high.”

And he was about to get even higher in a few seconds.

He heard Tommy suck in a breath, but before the drummer had the chance to get any words out, Nikki’d interrupted. He mumbled, “She kissed me first, baby, I-I didn’t wanna… I’m sorry. I fucked her last night. I’m so sorry. It didn’t mean anything. I love you. I just… needed to tell you that before I—”

“What…? Nikki, before you _what_?” He could practically _feel_ the fear building in the drummer’s voice.

“Goodbye, baby.”

“Nikki, no, wait!” Tommy screamed. “Fuck!”

“Love you, Tommy,” Nikki choked out, setting the fragmented glass on the ground. Why even bother slitting his wrists when he could just overdose, let the drug he loved finally kill him? “You’ve always been enough for me. More than enough. I just—need you to know that. Wish I coulda been better for you… To you.”

“Stop, baby, you’re scaring me,” the drummer pleaded.

Nikki curled his fingers around the balloon of china white, itching to just shoot it already. Tommy was saying something else, now, but whatever it was wasn’t registering in Nikki’s brain; his words sounded fuzzy. Nikki’s vision blurred as he felt his eyes slowly rolling back.

 

/ / /

 

When Nikki came to, he could just barely make out Tommy’s figure next to him. The room was dark but he’d recognize the drummer’s mess of curly hair anywhere. Nikki rolled over, then tried to sit up.

“Nikki,  _fuck_ ,” Tommy cursed, voice hoarse. He moved closer to where Nikki sat, throwing his arms around the bassist. “You scared me, baby. I thought you were gonna—”

 _Jesus, Sixx._ What kind of fucked up shit did he do _this_ time? He couldn’t remember to save his life; one second he was conscious, high and drunk on whiskey, the next…everything had gone black. Fuckin’ china white.

“Gonna what?” Nikki dared to ask.

Tommy squeezed him a little tighter; it kinda hurt but Nikki didn’t say anything, just let it happen because it also felt nice, comforting. “You don’t remember…? You called me, freaked me the fuck out, Nik. I thought—um. I thought you were gonna try to kill yourself.”

“I was high, I… wasn’t thinking clearly,” Nikki sniffled.  

“Don’t fucking scare me like that again, Sixx.”

Nikki straddled the drummer’s lap, now, face hidden in his neck as he mumbled, his voice cracking, “I’m sorry Tommy, baby.”

Tommy buried a hand in Nikki’s hair, holding him close before lifting his chin up. “My Nikki. Fuck, I love you. If you… I don’t know what the fuck I’d do if I lost you. I—don’t wanna even think about what I’d do. I love you so fucking much.”

He leaned in, pressing his lips to Nikki’s.

“And I’m sorry for… earlier,” he added. “It just kinda—really hurt to see that girl all over you.”

Nikki lowered his eyes. “I fuckin’ hate myself for that, I don’t—I…”

Tommy’s fingers brushed against Nikki’s cheek, and Nikki involuntarily shivered. “Nik, no, don’t. God, baby, I love you so much. It’s okay.”

Nikki pulled him into another kiss—he’d never been too good with words and feelings and shit. He’d rather just show Tommy how much he loved him, how much he _needed_ him.

His teeth grazed against Tommy’s lower lip, and the drummer let out a soft moan. Nikki pulled away suddenly, and their lips parted with an audible click. “Let me make it up to you, baby.”

He could see Tommy’s eyes widen just a bit as the drummer caught his breath. Nikki turned his attention back to Tommy’s lips once again. One of his hands cupped Tommy’s cheek; the other slowly creeped up his thigh. Nikki began hungrily kissing Tommy’s neck, nipping and biting and sucking at his delicate skin as he slowly undid the fly on Tommy’s jeans, tugging them down. Nikki ignored the tightness in his own pants as he skated his fingers across Tommy’s smooth skin, then started palming the drummer’s erection through his boxers.

“Nikki…” Tommy gasped.

Nikki pushed him down onto the bed without a word, climbing on top of him and pressing his lips against Tommy’s neck again, then moving to his shoulder. He pushed his hands underneath the drummer’s shirt, running his fingertips down his chest before peeling his thin t-shirt off entirely.

“Fuck, baby,” Nikki muttered, eyes raking over Tommy’s lanky body, “You look so fucking gorgeous underneath me like this.”

The bassist could see Tommy’s hands clench, gripping a fistful of the bedsheets. A devilish smirk was plastered on Nikki’s lips as he dipped his head and flicked his tongue across Tommy’s nipple, gently biting it. He slowly started trailing kisses all the way down to Tommy’s hips, and Tommy suppressed a moan as Nikki used his teeth to tug his underwear out of the way.

He wrapped his hands around the base of Tommy’s cock, stroking him slowly before swirling his tongue around the tip. Tommy arched his back, letting out a throaty whine as Nikki parted his lips, taking the drummer’s length into his mouth.

Tommy’s hands found their way into Nikki’s hair again, tugging at his thick locks and _god_ did it feel good. The bassist pinned his hips against the mattress, holding them in place, and his eyes watered as Tommy’s tip hit the back of his throat.

“Nik, Jesus Christ,” Tommy panted, breathless. Nikki moaned as Tommy pushed his head down even more, throat-fucking the hell out of him. Nikki gagged, and his fingertips dug into Tommy’s hipbones as he lifted his eyes to meet Tommy’s. “God—Fuck.”

The drummer whimpered once Nikki’s lips left his cock. Nikki ran his fingers through Tommy’s dark hair as he said, “Give me a minute, babe.”

He rummaged around his room until he found the bottle of lube he was looking for, opened it, then coated his index and middle fingers with it. He gently spread Tommy’s legs, pausing to roughly kiss him as he circled a finger around his entrance, teasing him.

“Nikki, please,” the drummer mumbled against Nikki’s lips. Once Nikki finally pushed his finger inside, Tommy moaned into his mouth. He could feel the drummer tense up, then eventually relax. “Mm… that feels good, baby. Shit.”

“Fuck,” Nikki groaned, studying the way Tommy’s face flushed as he twisted his fingers inside him, then started pumping them in and out—slow at first but he quickly picked up the pace. “You’re stunning, baby.”

Tommy was an absolute mess underneath him and Nikki fucking loved it. He let go of his wrists, using his free hand to tug his own tight pants down, and then he eased his ring finger inside him, too. Tommy squirmed, biting his lip as his hand wrapped around his cock, slowly stroking himself.

Nikki continued to work his calloused fingers even deeper, his hazel eyes wide as he watched Tommy touch himself, sliding them out then curling them right back in.

“God, Nikki, please—”

“Please what, baby?” the bassist teased, that same smirk adorning his face.

“Please fuck me,” Tommy answered, desperate and needy. It turned Nikki on even more, if that was possible. “Fuck me, Nikki.”

Nikki reached for the lube he’d tossed aside earlier, squirting it into his palm and then smearing it along his hard length with a breathy moan. He couldn’t take his eyes off Tommy as he thrust his tip in, feeling Tommy tighten around him. Tommy covered his face, moaning as Nikki started moving a little faster. Nikki caught his breath just enough to purr, “No, baby, I wanna see you. Wanna see your pretty face while I fuck you.”

Tommy’s hands left his face, grabbing Nikki’s ass instead. His fingers dug into Nikki’s soft skin, and Nikki yelped as he gently squeezed down. “Better?”

“God—Jesus fucking—” Nikki struggled to say, breathless as he locked eyes with Tommy. The drummer’s lips were parted as soft moans fell from them, his bottom lip trembling and his dark eyes full of lust—they were fucking gorgeous. Nikki could look into his eyes forever, he thought. “Yes, Tommy—fuckin’…ah.”

Tommy’s breath quickened as Nikki’s thrusts did, too, and he brought a hand up, running it along Nikki’s cheek. “Love you, my Nikki.”

Nikki could’ve cried at those four words but he bit down on his lip to make sure that he didn’t. He wasn’t about to look like a little bitch.

And then Tommy started guiding Nikki’s hips even closer to himself, pulling him, his skin now flush with Tommy’s. Nikki’s head spun in ecstasy as he squeezed his eyes shut, allowing a couple moans to leave his lips.

He could tell Tommy was getting close by the way the drummer’s thighs were shaking and how he’d arched his back again, rolled his hips forward, and how he was murmuring Nikki’s name over and over. The bassist wrapped his fingers around Tommy’s dripping cock, caressing him until he came with a groan, nails clawing into Nikki’s back.

Nikki’s hands rested on Tommy’s thighs as he continued pounding into the drummer, then threw his head back and shut his eyes as his own orgasm hit. Nikki felt his entire body shudder, then slowly slipped his cock out of Tommy with a soft sigh. 

He had his forehead pressed against Tommy’s and both their breathing was heavy, erratic. They stayed like that for a while, their bodies covered in sweat and Tommy’s curly hair stuck to his forehead, and Nikki slowly steadied his breath as he whispered, “I love you.”

"I know,” Tommy’s eyes were half-lidded as he leaned forward to sweep his lips over Nikki’s. Nikki threaded a hand through the drummer’s damp hair, his nose bumping ever so slightly against Tommy’s. Tommy kissed his neck. “I love you too, Nik.”

Nikki smiled, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in. “Stay with me tonight?”

The drummer kissed Nikki’s earlobe, then whispered, “Yeah. Of course.”

/ / /

 

Nikki pushed the heavy blankets off of himself. His bedroom was too hot. Tommy had fallen asleep the second his head hit the fucking pillow, leaving Nikki awake with only his thoughts to keep him company. It had to be at least midnight already. Tommy snored softly as Nikki tiptoed over to his dresser. The bassist felt around for the balloon of china white, grabbing it, along with his lighter and the dirty syringe from earlier.

He locked himself in the bathroom, cooking up his fix. He needed one last hit. Just one more. Then he’d quit for real.

He shot up, alone in the dark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JDSKLFJLFDJKLS that was fuckin BAD. lmaoooo. i'm sorry. literally my first time ever writing smut like that. EVER. what i usually do is cut my scenes right before it happens then skip to after it's over OR i just end the chapter before but i figured what the hell. it wouldn't be a crue fic without at least a little bit of smut thrown in there ;))) i hope it wasn't cringy but it probably was. anyways, yeah....... fucking go easy on me, okay?? i'm already NERVOUS AS FUCK. i'll update the ratings and shit later i guess. 
> 
> one day i'll look back at this fic and feel so embarrassed that i actually wrote this, ya know????


	14. intermission

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is gonna be from tommy's POV because i came up with...... A Concept™, an Idea, that just worked better if i wrote it like that, ya know? you'll see why.... don't hate me :))

 

_Tommy_

 

Dude, holy shit. It was hot. Tommy was sweating, burning up almost, tangled underneath the mess of blankets that Nikki had piled on top of them before they went to sleep. He rolled over, whispering, “Hey Nik, can we, like, crack a window or something, dude? I’m fuckin’ dying.”

The room was dead silent. Fuck, it was almost kinda creepy. Like, _too_ quiet. Tommy went to shake Nikki’s shoulders but grabbed air instead. Nikki wasn’t there, his side of the bed cold, and the drummer instantly sat up in a panic, looking around—which didn’t do shit because it was basically pitch black except for the soft, muted glow of the moon filtering through the big window next to Nikki’s bed. “Nikki?”

Tommy could feel his heartbeat speeding up. Maybe Nikki just went to the bathroom? That’s gotta be it, right? Why was he freaking out for no fucking reason? And why did he still not believe that, why did still he feel like something was really fuckin’ wrong?

“Baby?” he called, louder this time. Still nothing, no response.

He stood up, a little dizzy, his vision a bit fuzzy, then looked at the clock. The moonlight that was spilling into the room shed _just_ enough light so that Tommy could make out what time it was once his blurry vision finally ebbed—Midnight. He flicked on the lights, his tired eyes immediately focusing on the broken Jack bottle and the— _shit_. Fucking heroin.

 _Shit shit shit_. Tommy’s blood ran cold because he just _knew_ that’s where the fuck Nikki was right now. He fucking knew, and it gave him the chills. He’d been hoping that it wasn’t fucking true, that Nikki had just gone to the bathroom or into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water because he couldn’t sleep, but… _Fucking smack_. Who knew how much of that shit Nikki had already shot up? He frantically threw Nikki’s t-shirt over his bare torso, and then—careful not to step on any of the glass that peppered the floor—made his way over to Nikki’s closet.

He’s gotta be in here, right?

“Nikki… Baby, it’s me,” he hesitated, standing at the edge of where the carpet of Nikki’s bedroom met the smooth hardwood floors of the closet. “Are you in here?”

Silence.  _Fucking shit_. He peeked his head around the door. No sign of Nikki, and Tommy wanted to scream. Where the fuck else could he be? _Where_ —? Shit, the fucking bathroom. The goddamn fucking bathroom. The drummer sprinted through the halls, catching his breath as he stood outside the door.

“Nikki!” He screamed, fists banging against the door so hard that it hurt his knuckles. His throat tightened. He felt sick, lightheaded. Like he was gonna fucking faint. Nikki should’ve answered by now. Hell, he’d definitely screamed loud enough. Nikki would’ve heard him. _Should’ve_ heard him. Tommy’s stomach was in knots as he cried, “Nik, open the door. _Please_ open the door, my Nikki. Fuck!”       

He shook the handle over and over and over, biting down on his lip to stop himself from _losing it_. Of fucking _course_ the door would be locked. His vision tunneled as he continued to jiggle the doorknob, hands shaking like a fucking bitch. Something was really fucking wrong and Tommy didn’t even wanna think about it. Didn’t wanna think about Nikki… overdosing. Again.

Tommy swallowed, his throat painfully dry. He had to— _fuck_. Why the hell was he still standing here like an idiot? _Fucking call 911, dumbass. For the love of god,_ go, _you fucking_ _idiot._ Even if Nikki just passed out, it couldn’t hurt. Tommy hoped and prayed to fucking godthat he was wrong about this and that Nikki _had_ just passed out but… something told him otherwise. He needed to call.  

His shaky hands made it kinda hard for him to dial the numbers, but the drummer managed. He was instantly greeted with a female voice asking him, “911, what’s your emergency?”

The words tumbled from Tommy’s lips before he even had a chance to process what he was saying. “I think my boyfriend overdosed on heroin.”

_Boyfriend? The fuck, dude. Can someone say 'wishful thinking'? Jesus—_

“Okay, sir,” she said, calm and collected, “And what is the address, can you give me your address?”

Tommy ended up having to repeat Nikki’s address twice because he was all choked up, rushing his words, screaming, losing it. Tears spilled from his dark eyes as he clutched onto the phone, trailing down his cheeks. At this point, he wasn’t even registering the dispatcher’s words anymore. He let out a sob as he said, “Fucking get here, please fucking get here, I can’t… I can’t lose him, I can’t lose my Nikki, please please please—”

“Are you with him right now?”

“N-no,” he answered. It was hard to breathe. To talk. To fucking think. “Like, I’m in the house with him, but he…”

“…So you don’t know if he’s breathing, correct?”

Tommy was gonna throw up. He was gonna puke any second now and he was one hundred percent sure of it. “No… Can you just fucking get here? Please, I—The fucking door, I can’t get in, he fucking locked it… God damn it.”

“All right. Let me update the paramedics.” The drummer didn’t know how the fuck she was so calm. There was a two-second pause, and he could hear faint shuffling noises in the background. “Okay, I’m sending the paramedics over right now, sir. Stay on the line with me, please. Are there any keys in the house that you could use to open the door? Do you know?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Tommy sniffled, his words jumbled together. He felt so fucking _useless_. Like he should be doing more. “I don’t know where he keeps them, I don’t know where to look. Fuck!”

He wanted to punch something. Wanted to— _fuck_ , how the hell did he not notice Nikki slip out of the bedroom earlier? He could’ve done something, he could’ve said something, he could’ve fucking _stopped him,_ even. Could’ve wrapped his arms around the bassist and told him he loved him and that everything was gonna be okay and to stay here with him _and_. If only…

“Do you have any idea how long ago he took the drugs?”

The drummer bit his lip so hard he could taste blood, rusty and metallic on his tongue. “I-I don’t… Ten minutes? F-five? … I don’t—I’m not s-sure…”

“Okay, well, the paramedics should be there shortly… When they arrive, I need you to take them to the room your boyfriend is in _immediately_ ,” the dispatcher said. “Can you do that for me, sir?”

Tommy’s head was spinning. “Yeah.”

He’d started to zone out a little without even realizing.

Nikki was his entire fuckin’ world. He loved Nikki so much it hurt—he fell head over fucking heels for him the moment they met. God, he’d been so nervous that night, walking over to _Nikki fucking Sixx_ and introducing himself. He was just a kid. And when Nikki had looked up at him with those gorgeous green eyes, blood gushing from his nose as he told him to _take the fuckin’ poster down, man_ , Tommy knew right then and there that Nikki was special. Different. Someone who’d turn his whole world upside down, someone who knew what the fuck he wanted and would do anything it took to make it happen. He was in love for real this time and he was sure of it. Yeah, ditching his date that night to go talk to Nikki was definitely one of the better choices the drummer’s made.

And him and Nikki had gone through so much shit together since that night—Tommy wasn’t a kid anymore and Nikki, always so fucking determined, had made his biggest dream of shaking up the Sunset Strip come true with the success of Mötley. Tommy couldn’t lose him. Not now. They’d been through too much. He fucking _couldn’t_ , he’d—

The dispatcher’s voice suddenly yanked Tommy from his thoughts. “Hello? Sir, can you hear me? Are you still there?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, dude. Shit, _ma'am_. Sorry,” Tommy answered, stammering.

“I need you to wait outside for the paramedics, can you do that for me?”

“I—yes. Yeah.”

“Okay. Thank you very much. Bye.”

It was too quiet again after Tommy hung up. That phone call had lasted three minutes, tops, but to the drummer it felt like it’d taken three fucking decades. He paused to grab a pack of cigarettes and one of Nikki’s lighters before scrambling out the front door.

The sky was a blue-black color and the wind whistled loudly as Tommy struggled to light his cigarette. Jesus Christ. Even the stars looked a little duller tonight, it seemed.

He barely had enough time to meet his cigarette with his lips and take a drag before the ambulance pulled up, red lights flashing and tires screeching, but that didn’t matter because it wasn’t fucking helping. He crushed it under his shoe. It took everything in him to not break down as he hysterically answered question after question, rushing the paramedics to the bathroom. And Tommy stood there, frozen in place with tears in his eyes and down his cheeks as they broke the door down and—

Then he stopped listening because Nikki was out cold on the floor with a bloody syringe sticking out of his elbow and _how could he listen right now, how could he focus on anything except Nikki?_ Nikki’s eyes were still open, for fuck’s sake, and now they were checking his neck for a pulse and and _and_. Tommy looked away—he had to—and he clamped a hand over his mouth as hard as he possibly could to stop himself from screaming. He watched the paramedics lift Nikki onto a stretcher and that’s when his knees went weak. He could barely walk in a straight line as he followed them outside to where the ambulance was parked in the street.

And then… Tommy swore he felt his heart stop when he heard one of the paramedics call out, “His breathing’s slowing down!”

_(No no no no no this can’t be happening this can’t be fucking happening what the fuck Nikki was fine an hour earlier fuck fuck fuck oh god oh god shit—)_

“Get me the fuckin’ naloxone!”

Tommy’s heartbeat was drumming loudly in his ears. Too loud. His head pounded and pounded and _pounded_ and fuck, why was he suddenly seeing double?

 _(This isn’t happening it’s just a bad dream it’s just a dream it’s not real it_ can’t  _be don’t look—)_

Before he knew it, he’d blacked out right there in the middle of the street. The sound of the sirens singing in his ears was the last thing he remembered, and the image of Nikki’s limp body lying on that stretcher was burned into the back of his eyelids. Tommy didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget that.

 

/ / /

“Mr. Lee?”

Tommy instantly sprang up from the hard plastic chair he was sitting in, rubbing his eyes. He was in… a hospital waiting room, somehow, with no memory whatsoever of how the fuck he had even gotten here. His throat hurt, his eyes ached, and to top it off, there was a sharp pain blooming behind his left eyebrow. He gave the doctor a slight nod, then asked, “W-what’s up?”

The doctor held a clipboard and a pen in his hands. He quickly glanced down at a sheet of paper before asking, “You’re here for… Mr. Sixx, correct?”

“Nikki, yeah,” the drummer managed to choke out, and his voice sounded gross from all the crying. Nikki had always hated that _Mr. Sixx_ bullshit, Tommy recalled with a frown. He wiped his clammy palms along his jeans, holding his breath, _waiting_.

“Nikki…” he paused, looking up at Tommy from behind his glasses, lips pressed together tightly, “I’m sorry, Mr. Lee, but I’m afraid that—”

Tommy shook his head. And it was like his insides curled up. And it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him as he squeaked, “N-no.”

The doctor’s voice dropped to just _barely_ a whisper as he finished his sentence. Tommy didn’t wanna hear it. “Nikki didn’t make it.”

He couldn’t move. He could only stand there, his brown eyes wide and mouth hanging open. He couldn’t even fucking _blink_. He didn’t think he had any tears left in him but a few more fell anyways. “No, no, no, no, no—fuck! Goddamnit! Tell me you’re lying.”

“I’m so sorry, son.”

He ran his hands through his messy hair, holding them there in place, fingernails digging into the back of his scalp. His stomach turned. And then he couldn’t help it; he fell to the floor, screaming as even more tears blurred his vision. “Please tell me you’re fucking lying!”

Nikki was fucking gone.

 _Nikki was fucking gone._ He’d never get to kiss him again, hold him, run his fingers through his dyed locks, trace his tattoos. He’d never get to tell him just how much he loved him. Never get to tell him about his crazy drum set ideas, never get to see him smile again, hear him laugh at the stupid jokes he always cracked…

Tommy felt the doctor place an arm around his shoulders. He flinched slightly. “Mr. Lee, we have a lot of wonderful counselors on our team here that you could talk to, if that’s something you would be interested in…?”

“No,” the drummer sobbed, his lower lip quivering uncontrollably, “No, I want N-Nikki.”

It was quiet after that, except for Tommy’s sniffling. He must’ve stayed there, in that same spot on the hospital floor, for… hell. He lost track of time. He couldn’t tell if it’d been two minutes or two _hours_. He felt numb. His entire world shattered, came crashing down, at those four words— _Nikki didn’t make it_. Nikki was fucking gone and… he didn’t really have a reason to live anymore, either.

 

/ / /

“Mr. Lee?”

Tommy woke up to someone gently tapping him on the shoulder. He caught his breath and  _holy fucking shit_ , it was a nightmare. Just a nightmare, but it had felt so fucking _real_ that he almost wanted to pinch his arm to make sure that _this_ wasn’t a dream, too. His heart was still racing as he looked around—he was in a hospital waiting room, in a hard plastic chair that hurt his back, no fucking idea how he got here. Oh god.

"Hi,” Tommy eventually said, his voice raspy.

The doctor glanced down at his clipboard. Oh _god_. “You’re here for Nikki, right? Nikki Sixx?”

The drummer bit his lip, hands shaking. He nodded, slowly. His eyes darted to the clock on the wall (which read 1:37 a.m.), to the front desk, down to his shoes… Because he was fucking _terrified_ that the doctor was gonna tell him Nikki didn’t make it, just like in his dream and _no don’t fucking think about that shut up_. He sucked in a breath, praying to any god out there that would fucking listen for that to not be the case.

“Mr. Sixx is okay, he’s sleeping,” the doctor gave him a small smile. Tommy buried his face in his hands, exhaling, pinching his arm as hard as he fucking could because  _fuck_. _Holy shit, dude_. Nikki was okay. He wasn’t dreaming this time. Nikki was alright. And _he_ was gonna be okay now, too.

“C-can I see him? Please?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes. Of course.”

He followed him down the long, empty hallways. They seemed to stretch on for miles and _miles_ and Tommy felt as if he couldn’t get there fast enough.

And then he swore he almost started crying like a little bitch once the door was pulled open and he saw Nikki laying on that hospital bed, eyes closed with a bunch of IVs tangled around his arms and buried in his collapsed veins, some weird clip thing on his finger, a machine next to him.

But he was okay and that’s all that mattered, Tommy thought as he sat down next to the edge of the bed. He’s okay. Nikki was  _okay_ , he’s _here_.

“I’ll leave you alone with him, Mr. Lee. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call one of the nurses,” the doctor’s voice cut through Tommy’s thoughts. He mumbled something back—or, he thought he did, at least; he wasn’t too sure—and then… he broke down again, crying as he laced his fingers between Nikki’s.

Time passed too slow as Tommy waited and waited and waited for Nikki to wake up. The drummer had hardly moved, still sitting in that same spot and still clutching onto Nikki’s hand… a little too tight, probably, he realized. _Shit_. He loosened his grip.

“Fucking  _hell_ , where am I?” Nikki said with a groan, sitting up. Tommy watched as his eyes wandered to the IVs in his arms, ripping them right out with a confused look painted on his face. “The fuck?”

The drummer didn’t even know what to say; too many possibilities circled through his brain. What he _did_ end up saying, however, was: “Fuck you, Sixx.”

Not exactly what he’d _wanted_ to say, but…

Nikki laughed, and it was like music to Tommy’s ears. He thought he’d never get to hear that laugh again. The bassist gave Tommy a wink, “I mean… If you want to, I’m not gonna stop you.”

A small smile worked its way onto Tommy’s lips as he rolled his eyes. “Good fucking _lord_ , dude. I thought you fucking died! Now’s not the time for jokes, asshole!”

Nikki stared up at him, his eyebrows pulled together as he croaked, “What?”

“You fucking overdosed, Nikki!” Tommy couldn’t help but scream. “Again!”

Nikki’s voice was quiet. “I… fuck, I did?”

And suddenly Tommy couldn’t speak because his mind kept flashing back to Nikki laying on that stretcher, Nikki with that needle in his arm, Nikki’s eyes rolled back in his head, Nikki’s lips tinted blue as the paramedics announced that his breathing had slowed and _fuck_.

“Baby?”

“Nikki, you…” the drummer paused to wipe a tear from his cheek, and his voice broke as he continued, “You need to go to rehab.”

“I’ll go to the clinic as soon as I get the fuck outta here, I promise,” Nikki told him, looking up at him with those gorgeous green eyes.

Tommy sighed, pulling his hands through his messy curls in frustration. “No, Nikki, _rehab_. Not the fucking methadone clinic! I can’t—you can’t keep _doing_ this shit! And _I_ can’t keep sitting around and watching you do this shit anymore!”

Nikki was quiet for a minute. When he finally spoke, his words were slow. “I don’t… _need_ …rehab, baby.”

“Yes you fucking _do_ , Nikki! You need help! And if you _still_ can’t fuckin’ see that, then I… can’t be with you anymore—”

Nikki cut in before Tommy could get another word out. Anger flashed in his green eyes as he growled, “What the _fuck_ happened to ‘it’s me and you, Sixx’? Was that just a fucking bullshit lie?”

The drummer stared down at the floor, trying to think of something—anything—to fucking say. He swallowed the lump in his throat and, although it was difficult, met his eyes with Nikki’s.

“Answer me, T-Bone,” Nikki snapped. “You’re gonna fucking walk out on me now, too? Like everyone else?”

“I fucking care about you, that’s why I want you to get help! I can’t do this anymore, Nik. I _tried_. I tried so fucking hard and I just can’t—”

“Fucking rehab isn’t gonna help me… All that God bullshit, I’d rather blow my fucking brains out than have to listen to _that_ crap,” Nikki protested. “But fine, fucking leave if you want. I’m not going.”

And that’s when Nikki stood up and staggered out of the room, wearing nothing but his leather pants from earlier.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS I WOULD NEVER FUCKING MAKE NIKKI DIE OKAY I AM NOT /THAT/ EVIL!!!! 
> 
> im also not a medical professional by any means so just pretend that everything i wrote in here is accurate


	15. van nuys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> van nuys by sixx am is such a banger, shame it's so sad tho. breaks my heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're back to nikki's POV, babey. yeehaw. this is gonna be short,, sorry

 

“Mötley Crüe is a band known for hard-partying and excess, but sometimes they have a tendency to take things a little too far: bassist Nikki Sixx was rushed to the hospital late last night after another drug overdose…” The sound of the TV was loud in Nikki’s empty house, and _yes_ , he fucking hated the media (fuck those pricks for thinking his personal business was also everyone else’s), but he couldn’t help but stare as his picture flashed across the screen. “Tommy Lee, Mötley Crüe’s drummer and Sixx’s ‘Terror Twin,’ had been inside Sixx’s Van Nuys mansion with him at the time of the overdose, and Lee was the one who made the 911 call.”

Nikki was still wearing nothing but his shoes and his leather pants from earlier. His arms looked even more fucked than they normally did under the dim lighting, and he let out a sigh. Footage of him and Tommy fucking around like idiots before one of their shows filled the TV screen. He frowned. He missed _that_ Nikki.

“Sources say that Sixx’s breathing began slowing down, and the paramedics had to administer a dose of Naloxone to reverse the effects of the drug. Sixx was then taken to Cedar-Sinai Hospital in Los Angeles for treatment, the same hospital he was treated at following his near fatal overdose back in December of 1987, when—”

He shut his eyes as they showed a shot of his body being wheeled out of the Franklin Plaza Hotel on a stretcher, the sound of the reporter’s voice still droning on in the background. He didn’t wanna have to see that shit. Fuck those pricks. Who the fuck do they think they _are_ , anyways, showing that?

He grabbed the remote, about to call it a night and shut the TV off for good, until he heard the news anchor say, “We have received an audio recording of Mr. Lee’s outgoing 911 call—here, take a listen.”

Nikki bit his lip. Could they even fucking _do that_? Like, legally and shit? The bassist briefly contemplated calling his lawyer. He was pretty damn sure there had to be something or another about that in the law, but whatever, it could wait, he could do that tomorrow…

_"911, what’s your emergency?”_

Nikki frowned, still holding the remote in his hand with his index finger placed on the ‘OFF’ button.

He clenched his jaw at the sound of Tommy’s voice, panicked and slightly distorted over the recording: _“I think my boyfriend overdosed on heroin.”_

A few tears gathered behind Nikki’s eyes. _My boyfriend_. That sounded nice, those two words, falling from Tommy’s lips. Nice enough that Nikki didn’t even care about what the press would think.

_“And what is the address, can you give me your address?”_

There was a long beep. Thank god, at least those fuckers had the decency to cut out his address, Nikki thought with an eye roll.    

But what Nikki heard next almost made him break down. _“Fucking get here, please fucking get here, I can’t… I can’t lose him, I can’t lose my Nikki, please please please—”_

No, fuck that, fuck ‘almost’—he was sobbing and he didn’t think he could stop.

_"Are you with him right now?”_

_"N-no.”_ There was a quick pause. _“Like, I’m in the house with him, but he…”_

_"…So you don’t know if he’s breathing, correct?”_

Fuck. Nikki sighed, head in his hands. His brain still felt a little foggy.

" _No… Can you just fucking get here? Please, I—The fucking door, I can’t get in, he fucking locked it… God damn it.”_

 _Fuck_ , he was so stupid. He turned off the TV; he’d definitely heard enough of this shit. He hadn’t meant to overdose—he just wanted a little hit to help him fall asleep, that’s all. And what the _fuck_ was he thinking, snapping at Tommy like that for suggesting that he should go to rehab? Lord knows Nikki needed it, he was just… scared. Scared it wasn’t gonna work, scared that nothing could help him. He was scared that he’d fuck up again (after all, he kind of had a habit of doing that).

Nikki didn’t wanna think about this shit right now; he was exhausted. And so he managed to drag himself into bed, curling up underneath the blankets, knees against his chest. His tears stained the pillowcase to the point where he had to flip the pillow over.

Before he knew it, he’d fallen asleep. He’d dreamed of Tommy that night, and of himself—him out of rehab, finally clean, him telling Tommy that he did this for him, got clean for him. That he owed it to him. Tommy’s soft lips and sweet words whispered in his ear and his warm, comforting hands. Tommy smiling like he’s never seen before, his fingers trailing along Nikki’s skin and tracing his tattoos. And when he woke up the next morning with Tommy’s frantic voice on that recording, that damn 911 call, running through his mind on a loop, he knew he couldn’t keep lying to himself: he needed to fucking fix this. He fucked up.

He didn’t wanna die out here in the Valley.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't good but it's all i got tbh. 
> 
> ya know when you don't really wanna write a story anymore? this is how i feel about this one. someone else write it for me please


	16. why me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ummmm. not my best, sorry y'all. but its the only thing my mind could come up w. just a warning. it's also, like, 99% dialogue. same with everything i fucking write :-)
> 
> SORRY. the next one is gonna be better (maybe. hopefully)

And, so… take two. Day one. Dope free. Sucks just as bad as the first time, if not more, Nikki thought. He stopped by the clinic earlier, and it sucked even with the methadone. How the hell he was gonna survive this… well, he really had no fucking clue.

He hadn’t heard from Tommy since that night at the hospital, the night of his overdose ( _fuck_ , he still couldn’t believe that happened), and it stung a little bit, yeah. But on the other hand, he got it. He understood why. He couldn’t blame Tommy; the drummer was obviously sick of putting up with his shit. Hell, even _he_ was sick of his shit. 

He shut his eyes. He wanted to try to sleep a little before their interview with MTV later today—Talk about bad timing. He had begged and begged and _begged_ for Doc to cancel but he had no such luck. Of course, right? The bassist had done plenty of interviews while high out of his mind – and he could usually manage to pull himself together, for the most part – but never any when he was strung out and dope sick… This was gonna be interesting, to say the least.

 

/ / /

 

“Nikki, I’m sorry,” Tommy ran up to him as soon as he stepped backstage. They were on in fifteen minutes, and Nikki felt like he was gonna throw up. Ha, puking his guts out live and on MTV… Entertaining, sure, but no one needed to see that. “I-I didn’t… I’m sorry, Nikki… fuck, I didn’t mean to say that—”

Tommy was jumpy: eyes darting all over the place, chewing on his bottom lip, messing with his hair.

“Hey,” Nikki said softly, taking Tommy’s hands in his with a small smile. He chuckled before adding, “If anyone should be apologizing right now, it’s me.”

“N-no, I—what I said on the fucking call,” he paused, staring at the floor. “The 911 call, I didn’t mean to… I’m sorry, Nikki, don’t hate me. Please, Nik. I swear I didn’t mean to say that and now it’s fucking everywhere and I didn’t know they were gonna play it on TV like that and—”

“What are you… _oh_ ,” Nikki squeezed Tommy’s hand. He dropped his voice to a whisper, asking, “The boyfriend thing?”

Tommy nodded, his eyes still anywhere but on Nikki. “A-are you mad at me? I didn’t…”

Nikki shook his head, using his thumb and index finger to lift Tommy’s chin up. He was met with warm brown eyes and blown pupils, and _fuck_. Guess that explained why he was so fucking jumpy. “I’m not mad, T-Bone. I promise you, baby, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at those fucking dicks for playing it.”

The drummer swallowed. “Everyone’s gonna—”

"Who the fuck cares about what ‘everyone’s’ gonna think? Or say?” Nikki interrupted. He shrugged, “I don’t.”

“I wasn’t thinking, I swear.”

Nikki gently combed a hand through Tommy’s hair. “ _Fuck_ what they think. Okay? All it means is that I can finally kiss you in public without being fuckin’ paranoid. Like this.”

He leaned in, craning his neck and sweeping his lips over Tommy’s. One of his hands was buried in the back pocket of Tommy’s jeans, his other cupped the drummer’s cheek.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Tommy said once they paused, and Nikki swore he saw a few tears in his brown eyes.

Nikki kissed his forehead, arms now wrapped tight around Tommy’s waist. He smiled. “Yeah, sometimes. But you’re _my_ idiot. And… now isn’t one of those times, baby. Just so you know. Those fucking assholes shouldn’t have played that shit, it’s not your fault.”

And then they both stood there like that, leaning against the wall and not saying anything for a beat, just listening to the background noise with their foreheads pressed together. Nikki hesitated, licking his lips, and then said, “I went to the clinic today.”

Tommy smiled. “That’s great, baby. But what about—”

Fucking Tommy was gonna ask about fucking rehab; of fucking course. Nikki didn’t wanna answer.

“Rehab still kinda… scares me,” the bassist admitted, lowering his eyes.

“Okay, lovebirds, get the fuck over here!” Vince yelled, flipping his blonde hair and gesturing to the stage. Annoyance dripped from his voice. “We’re on!”

Tommy instantly froze up. He threw his arms around Nikki’s neck, nestling his head into the bassist’s shoulder. “I-I can’t, Nikki, I can’t… They’re gonna… _Fuck_ , that fucking call, they’re gonna ask—”

Nikki quickly kissed him one last time, then mumbled, “Let me handle it, baby.”

He had to practically drag Tommy out there. The cheers from the audience drowned out Nikki’s thoughts for a moment as he took a seat next to Vince, resting his hand on Tommy’s thigh. They were both handed microphones, and the noise evaporated as the interviewer said, full of energy and adrenaline thanks to the cameras and the sea of people in front of them, “I’m here with Mötley Crüe today—let’s hear it for Vince Neil, Nikki Sixx, Tommy Lee, and Mick Mars! Mötley Crüe, everyone!”   

“Glad to be here, man. Thanks for having us,” Vince smiled, earning another loud cheer. Vince definitely knew how to work a crowd, Nikki had to give him that. “Thank you, thank you.”

“We’ll get into the music in a minute, but first question – and this one’s for you, Tommy,” Nikki watched as Tommy bounced his leg up and down, nervous, “Tell me, what’s going on between you and Nikki?! You recently referred to him as your boyfriend, are you two together?”

Giving Tommy’s thigh a tiny squeeze, Nikki cut in. “Yeah. We are.”

Tommy looked over at him, eyes wide. The audience fell completely silent.

“And anyone who doesn’t like it can fucking suck my _fucking_ dick,” the bassist added, putting an arm around Tommy’s shoulders and pulling him close. Tommy leaned into it.

“Vince, Mick, what are your thoughts?” The interviewer asked.

Vince messed with his hair and gave him a casual shrug. “Well, I mean… Nikki’s happy, Tommy’s happy, what else can I say, you know?”

"I’m happy for ‘em,” Mick said, a smile on his lips.

The interviewer looked out at the stunned crowd. “Well, you heard it here first! Tommy Lee and Nikki Sixx… are officially together! Now, Nikki, a couple questions for you: how’s the new music coming along? Any plans for the next album? And is there a release date yet?”

Nikki’s head spun. It was too hot under the bright studio lights and he could feel his cheeks flush. And the leather jacket he was wearing didn’t exactly… help things. “It’s, uh, yeah… it’s comin’ along, y’know?”

 _That_ couldn’t be any farther from the truth. He sunk into the couch a bit, feeling a little guilty.

“There’s no release date _yet_ ,” Vince added in. “But it’s gonna be good, man.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure. Well, we can’t wait to hear it,” the interviewer smiled into the camera, letting out an effortless laugh. He went on to ask Mick about— _something_ , guitars maybe, but Nikki couldn’t focus because the fucking methadone wasn’t doing  _shit_ and he was gonna puke.  

 _Oh god_. The bassist sprang up from where he sat on the couch, pressing a hand over his mouth and booking it offstage. Whatever, Vince was good at coming up with excuses…

He couldn’t make it to the bathroom down the hallway, so he settled for the trashcan instead. Snot dripped from his nose as he dry-heaved, coughing hard. Pretty rad, right? _Fuckin’ A._

“Nikki, are you okay?”

“T-Bone?” Nikki looked up. “You can go back out there, honey, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

“Honey. I like that.” Trailing a hand down Nikki’s back, Tommy shook his head. “And… I don’t really wanna. Not without you, baby.”

"Fuck,” the bassist groaned, wiping his mouth. One of the crewmembers immediately ran over and handed him a bottle of water—hey, maybe MTV wasn’t so bad after all, who woulda thought? Nikki mumbled a quick thank you, struggling to twist the cap off before taking a long sip. “I need to sit down.”

Tommy had an arm around his shoulders as Nikki stumbled over to a quiet corner, tucked out of the way. He all but collapsed on the floor, clutching onto Tommy for support.

“You sure you’re okay?” the drummer asked, quiet, fingertips ghosting along the back of Nikki’s hand before turning to press a soft kiss to his temple.

Hot tears welled in Nikki’s eyes as he shook his head, whimpering, “No—Fuck.”

And then his voice broke. He laid his head on Tommy’s chest, sniffling as the drummer held him. Closing his teary eyes, Nikki rambled, “Why me? I never fucking asked to be a junkie, I never fucking wanted this. I never fucking asked for my parents to fucking leave or any of that shit… What the fuck did I ever do to deserve such a shit life? Fuck me, why the fuck can’t I just _quit_ , I don’t—”

“Nikki…” Tommy whispered, his fingers now tangled in Nikki’s hair. “Hey. Baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. I love you, Nik.”

Nikki wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Don’t you ever get tired of this shit, T-Bone?”

“What…?”

“ _This_ ,” Nikki repeated. “Me crying like a little bitch about shit that doesn’t fucking—”

“Don’t even finish that, Sixx,” the drummer interrupted, using the pad of his thumb to catch a tear running down Nikki’s cheek. “I’m never gonna ‘get tired’ of you. And I hope you fucking know that, asshole.”

He’d punctuated his sentence with a laugh, making Nikki smile for the first time this afternoon.

“I was a dick to you at the hospital, though,” Nikki protested, biting his lip. God, that night was painful to look back on. He didn’t even wanna imagine how Tommy had felt— _Fuck_ , he was such a dumbass. “And I’m sorry.”

“You’re what?” Tommy teased.

“Fucking hell, T-Bone,” Nikki’s lips stretched into a grin. “Don’t make me say that shit again.”

After all, with Nikki’s track record, he was probably gonna be saying it again tomorrow. And the next day, and…

Tommy was smiling, too, as he kissed Nikki’s earlobe. He gestured to the stage, “You think we should go back out there?”

“Fuck no.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lmao that's always a gr8 way to end a chapter amirite or amirite??? decided 2 update bc that's what i do when it's 10 at night and I'm bored af :))))))


	17. white lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW. HI. IT HAS BEEN A MIIIIINUTE SINCE I UPDATED THIS STORY. i am SO sorry. i just-- had no ideas for it, and i still kinda don't, but i managed to write this? it's kind of a filler chapter, kinda short & nothing special, really, but hey,,, it's something so it counts, right? 
> 
> LMAO, enjoy. i'll try not to leave y'all hanging for two months till the next update, thank u for reading if anyone even is!

Nikki sat out on Vince’s back porch, watching the sun disappear behind the mountains and setting the evening sky ablaze in shades of fiery reds and bright oranges, all lit up and reminiscent of Hell, almost. _Fitting_.

 

His only company was the warm L.A. air and his thoughts, and he tried his damn hardest to tune out all the noise coming from inside Vince’s mansion, to concentrate on anything else, but it was hard; the party going on was definitely in full fucking swing.

 

And Nikki was… sitting outside, all alone while feeling like there was a knife in his stomach.

 

This shit was getting old.

 

“Babe!” Nikki instantly turned to face Tommy, who had a big, goofy smile on his lips—that same big, goofy smile Nikki had loved since _day fucking one_ —“There you are! I was wondering where the hell you snuck off to!”

 

Pulling his lips into a tight smile (which may or may not have been fake), Nikki motioned for Tommy to sit down. His arms quickly found their place around Tommy’s waist, and he sat his half-empty water bottle on the ground so it wouldn’t spill. “I… Sorry, baby. I just felt a little sick, didn’t wanna throw up in front of,” he paused, gesturing towards Vince’s place, “fucking… everyone.”

 

Or, worse, blow the ten bucks he had in his pocket on junk—it was so fucking tempting, and it would be _so easy_ , too: Vince’s house was crawling with dealers and absolutely riddled with every drug imaginable, it seemed.

 

Nikki quickly pulled himself from his thoughts before they got the better of him, before he found himself lying to Tommy so he could go chasing after that high once again. _God_ , it would be so easy… and that fucking terrified Nikki.

 

Tommy frowned, then paused to brush away a few strands of Nikki’s dyed black hair from where they laid, resting lightly on his forehead. “You’re okay now though, right?”

 

Nikki sucked in a sharp breath that was a little too shaky. He dropped his eyes to the ground, to his shoes, as he shook his head and mumbled, “It’s so fucking hard. I _want_ to be in there having fun with you, babe, but—”

 

“We could go home, Nik,” Tommy suggested, worry written all over his face as the whites around his eyes slowly grew.

 

“Home,” Nikki echoed, savoring just how nice that word felt as it flowed from his lips—and Tommy’s, too, because fuck, _yes_ he wanted to go _home_ with Tommy, with the love of his life. He’d never really _had_ a home before; not with Deana and definitely not with his father. He had always dreamed of being able to say that word without getting all choked up, without memories of bloodied, cut-up wrists and vodka instantly flooding into his mind and burning into his eyelids when he closed his eyes, and now… He finally could. “Yeah, let’s go home, baby.”

 

Tommy helped him stand up, and Nikki leaned against him the entire time as they pushed their way through the droves of people inside—all dancing the night away without a care in the world.

 

Vince was too busy chatting up ( _surprise, surprise_ ) some pretty blonde, who’d most likely end up in his bed before the night was over to even notice Nikki pulling the front door open.

 

And the car ride home seemed too long, and as what little was left of the golden sun faded behind the dark clouds, Nikki felt even sicker. His head was pounding, loud in his ears like the beat of a drum, and quite honestly, he didn’t know how he’d made it this far without puking yet.

 

As Tommy put the car in park, he turned to Nikki and with that same smile, asked, “You need help, Nik?”

 

Nikki lied and told Tommy that he didn’t, even though the way he was stumbling around like a drunken idiot would _definitely_ said otherwise. He was tired of feeling so fucking _weak_ all the time.

 

Making it to the couch was nothing short of a miracle, and he instantly curled up into himself, suddenly feeling cold in his poor choice of clothes—nothing but a pair of thin leather pants and an equally thin t-shirt. Tommy noticed, ran to get a blanket, and then threw it over Nikki, who tried to tell him that he _didn’t have to do that_ , even though doing so proved to be pretty much pointless.

 

He concentrated on taking deep breaths, _in and out, in and out,_ and barely even registered it when Tommy asked if he needed anything.

 

What the hell would he do without Tommy?

 

“Just a glass of water?” Nikki managed. Maybe it would help… or he hoped it would, at least. But this stomachache was a real bitch, nothing would _really_ help— _Except…_

Pushing those thoughts from his head because he _hated hated hated_ where this was going, Nikki turned on the TV. He wasn’t surprised at all when he was met with clip after clip of the interview Mötley did with MTV a few days ago—it was Hollywood’s next big thing; they hadn’t shut up about it ever since it aired.

 

Nikki didn’t mind it, though. It’s not like he was a stranger to the press, after all. And besides, he liked having everyone know that Tommy was _his_.

 

He watched as it cut to some blonde lady with obnoxiously bright red lipstick, adding whatever commentary she had, and got so invested in what she was saying that he almost didn’t notice Tommy sitting down next to him.

 

“Here, babe,” he held out a glass of water, filled to the top with ice, and Nikki gladly took it, downing it like his life depended on it. His throat felt as dry as the fucking Sahara Desert, and the cool water that was now trickling down it was refreshing, exactly what he needed.

 

Before he knew it, he’d finished the entire glass, and Tommy chuckled. “Damn.”

 

Nikki’s lips stretched into a smile as he pulled Tommy into a kiss. “I love you, T-Bone. Thanks for…” he paused, laughing, “Everything.”

 

“I love you,” Tommy repeated, his face still only inches away from Nikki’s. “Always will.”

 

And even though it was dark in Nikki’s living room, he could still see how absolutely blown Tommy’s pupils were—although he wished he hadn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> most disappointing update award goes to yours truly ! <3


	18. here for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another lame filler chapter, my specialty :)

Nikki had realized that waking up next to Tommy was one of his favorite feelings in the whole goddamn world—well, he realized it a while ago but this morning just proved his point even further. Nothing even came close to how _good_ it felt to lay there in Tommy’s arms; it made him wanna stay in bed forever.

 

(Hell, Tommy was such a late sleeper that it sometimes _did_ feel like forever – not that Nikki minded, though. He didn't mind in the slightest.)

 

He let his eyes flutter shut again, feeling them burn as he did, and then decided that it was most definitely way too early to be up. So he rested his head against Tommy’s chest, and when Tommy pulled him even closer, still fast asleep and mumbling absolute  _nonsense_ , Nikki only smiled and smiled and _smiled_.

 

And before he knew it, he had drifted off again, _just like that_. His dreams were filled with Tommy’s starry eyes and bright smile and for the first time in as long as he could remember, he didn’t think of heroin once.

 

/ / /

 

When he woke up next, Tommy’s spot beside him was cold and the curtains were open, buckets of soft morning light spilling in from the window behind them. He sat up, still in a bit of a daze as he looked around the room.

 

Frowning at the fact that Tommy was nowhere to be seen, he pulled his t-shirt over his head, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and walked down the long halls into the kitchen where… Tommy was making breakfast and damn it, why the hell was he suddenly tearing up at that? _Get yourself the fuck together, Nikki, Christ._

 

A couple pancakes sizzled on the stove and Nikki hung back for a moment, physically unable to take his eyes off of Tommy, who had grabbed a spoon and started drumming it against the countertops. Only Tommy could have this much energy on a fucking _Monday morning_ , Nikki mused, but that was one of the things he loved the most about the drummer.

 

“Morning, baby,” he eventually said, laughing when Tommy jumped at the sound of his voice and then quickly whirled around.

 

“Nikki, shit, you scared me!” Tommy’s eyes widened comically as he tossed a handful of blueberries into the bubbling pancake batter—where the hell did _those_ come from? Nikki knew for a fact that he didn't have blueberries in his kitchen but... he wasn't gonna question it. 

 

Looping an arm around the drummer's thin waist, Nikki smiled – a real, genuine smile and that felt good, too. “Blueberry pancakes, huh?”

 

“Fuck yeah, dude! I’m just telling you right now, though... They’re not gonna be as good as the ones at Denny’s are but hey, I fuckin’ tried!”

 

For a second, all Nikki could do was stand there, _stand there_ and try his damn hardest not to cry like a little bitch over a few fucking _pancakes_. “I… I love you, Tommy.”

 

Tommy dipped his head down, pressing a kiss to the crown of Nikki’s head and whispering, “I love you too, my Nikki,” into his messy, tousled hair.

 

“Baby…” Nikki started, but quickly let his sentence fizzle out into nothing much like a cigarette in an ashtray. He didn’t know what to say, _where_ to even start. “…Thank you.”

 

And just when he thought Tommy’s grin couldn’t _possibly_ get any bigger…

 

“‘Course, Nik,” he said, eyes flickering to the stove, “I think they’re done, you want one or two?”

 

Nikki debated that in his head. He wasn’t feeling _nearly_ as nauseous as he was last night, his awful, withdrawal-induced stomachache finally starting to subside, so he settled for, “Two.”

 

“Gotcha, babe,” Tommy shot him a playful wink. He slid two hot pancakes onto an empty plate and handed it to Nikki, then paused to fix one up for himself. Then he sat across from Nikki at their tiny kitchen table, absolutely drowning his poor pancakes in way too much butter and syrup just like he had that night at the diner. Some things never really changed, huh?

 

“Uh… Nik?” Tommy laughed. “Is there something on my face? You’re staring, dude.”

 

Feeling the apples of his cheeks flush red, Nikki rolled his eyes. Still, the corners of his mouth lifted into a smile as he argued, “Am not.”

 

And then Tommy was smiling at him again, brighter than the sun itself and warmer than summertime and Nikki realized that seeing Tommy _smile_ _like that_ was one of his favorite sights in the whole goddamn world, no question about it.

 

They sat there and scarfed down their food in a comfortable silence – Nikki somehow even managed to finish both of his pancakes, a fuckin’ accomplishment if you asked him – and then… he couldn’t help it.

 

The whole _cocaine_ thing had been bothering him ever since last night, weighing heavy on his mind and he just _had_ to say something about it to Tommy... No matter how much he really didn’t want to. 

 

Dragging his fork through a glob of syrup on his plate, he hesitated before eventually forcing the words from his mouth. “Uh, baby… Can I… ask you something?”

 

Tommy’s dark eyes met with Nikki’s and he nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah, babe. Anything.”

 

Nikki rushed his words. “Are you still using drugs?”

 

And they hung in the air for a while and Nikki cursed himself for even bringing it up as he watched Tommy’s expression falter, his gorgeous smile instantly slipping from his face. _Fuck_.

 

“I…” Tommy paused, nervous, staring down at the table instead of looking up at Nikki. He exhaled. Stared up at the ceiling. Then back to the table, then… “ _God_ —fuck, Nikki, I’m sorry. Vince offered last night and I-I should’ve said no, I don’t know why the fuck I didn’t—”

 

_God damn it, Vince._

 

A few minutes passed, and then Tommy finally broke the silence between them by asking, “Are you mad at me?”

 

“No,” Nikki instantly reassured him, feeling his heart break a little at that. He could never get mad at Tommy— _ever_. No matter what. Just the _thought_ of it made his stomach turn much more than the withdrawals ever did. “Not at you, baby. I _am_ kinda pissed at Vince, though.”

 

“Nik, I swear I’m gonna get clean with you,” Tommy said, his voice slightly quivering. “I just… It’s a little harder for me than I thought it would be...”

 

Nikki knew that feeling all too well; it was like Tommy was preaching to the fucking choir. “I get it, babe. Trust me, I _really_ fucking do. But you know I’m here for you. I just… need you to be here for me too?”

 

He felt like an asshole saying that last part out loud because god, Tommy’s the only person in his goddamn life who _was_ there for him constantly, through the good and the bad, all the highs and all the lows, but… Nikki wanted—no, _needed_ —to get clean and, deep down, he knew he wouldn’t be able to tear himself away from his own vices if Tommy was snorting lines and chugging down bottles of Jack every night.

 

“I will,” Tommy’s voice broke and so did Nikki’s fucking heart, “I swear I will.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof that was MAD SHITTY i apologize :,) 
> 
> honestly i haven't really liked this story for a while now so if it seems like i'm struggling, I AM :)))))


End file.
